Devils on the Moorland
by QuantumSheep
Summary: On the rolling moors of Scotland, the Doctor crosses paths with an ambitious but callous collector of 'exotic' specimens, only for both of them to be pitted against some very unhappy Sea Devils. The Doctor must team up with a renegade alien warrior who has become stranded on Earth in order to stop the ancient reptiles who are hell bent on reclaiming the planet as their own.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

" _Skirmishes on the outer frontier between the Voord Empire and the Confederacy of Frontier Worlds intensified in the Askay sector earlier today, when Voord forces launched a mass offensive against human defenders that has pushed back the frontlines several miles. Casualties mount on both sides, and amongst the fighting we are receiving reports of independent contractors working for both sides, as the drive for profit has only been increased by this conflict…"_

Flames cast flickering, sporadic shadows over the many piles of stripped vehicles that littered the yard. Smoke plumed from a wreck beyond the perimeter, and white and yellow streaks shot across the night sky overhead: missiles and pulse weapons, going back and forth, an exchange of long range weapons fire. Galva Prime was a world that had been in a state of war for many years, its population centres reduced to rubble and its resource-rich deserts turned into crater-marked battlegrounds. The scrapyard had been in operation since before the war, and had since become a graveyard for armoured military vehicles and crashed spacecraft, mainly shuttles and fighters.

Were it not for the flames scattered about the place, the desert would be almost pitch black. High above, a pair of silver moons gleamed, placing the landscape under a subdued glow. Racing through the maze of rusted vehicle hulks and spot fires came a pair of tall figures, dressed in armour-padded jackets and vests, weapons in hand as they moved through the scrapyard. Their pursuers were not far behind.

Both were not human. Tall and broad-shouldered, with muscular frames underneath, they were both decidedly reptilian in appearance, at least at a glance: dark greyish blue skin covered in scales, and the one in front carried a pair of orange eyes with slitted pupils in each. His head was hairless, with only a few narrow spines protruding from his scalp. In one gloved hand he carried a pistol, a bulky model with a blue glow emanating from its barrel. Under the other arm he carried a small metal box, and his powerful legs worked quickly to carry him across the scrapyard. Faster than a typical human, and stronger too, this alien had a particular goal in mind, one that had become complicated when his shuttle had been destroyed only a few hours before. That had left him and his friend stranded in a warzone, leaving them with little other option but to run.

His friend was the same species, albeit slightly shorter with a lighter shade of skin and yellow eyes. He carried a bulky looking rifle, emanating the same blue glow from the barrel. He followed closely, able to keep the pace up with his friend in front, and occasionally he would swivel around to look for any trace of their pursuers. The trouble with the Voord was that they were especially good at moving unseen in the darkness, and the alien's sensitive eyes, although well-adjusted for the low-light, would find it difficult to make out a camouflaged Voord soldier. So, the pair kept running, hoping that their pursuers would not reach them. They would be outnumbered, after all, and the one in the lead had no desire to die on this barren backwater. They were both young, in human terms the one in the lead would only have been about twenty-five. As for his friend, he was twenty-two.

"Could you…slow down a little?" The one behind him asked, panting heavily. He stumbled against a rusted hulk for a moment, short of breath. The lead turned around, stopping for a moment as he shook his head and gestured for his companion to keep moving.

"They're right on our tail," he said. "Come on, Lasthan. We can't afford to stop moving."

"I just need a breather." Lasthan fell into a walking pace, trying to catch his breath. Somewhere distant, explosions sounded out as missiles struck their targets. Smoke erupted from the far western perimeter, a stray missile strike, one that sent the boom of the detonation flooding across the scrapyard. The ground rumbled beneath their feet, another sign to the eldest of the pair to keep moving.

"Where are we going, Spartus?" Lasthan asked. "We have no ship. We have no way off of this planet."

"We have to find somewhere safe. Now come on, they're right behind us." Spartus looked into the uneven darkness further back the way they had come. Shadows flickered and fires burned, but he could see no movement. He found it unlikely that they had shaken their pursuers. The Voord were determined sorts, especially when pursuing thieves. With the box under one arm, he considered simply throwing it to the ground and letting them have it back. Of course, this was only a fleeting thought, for he had no desire to throw away the one thing that had given this trip here purpose. They had come all the way here intent on taking this item, 'a simple job' their employer had told them, but he had neglected to mention that the planet was a warzone. He had also warned them against opening the box, for the item inside was apparently dangerous. So Spartus, like he often did, simply followed instructions and did not let his curiosity get the better of him. He had a job to do and he intended to do it, for if there was one thing he needed it was the monetary reward. He and Lasthan had been running on fumes for the last few years, as the work offers had dried up and so had their finances. They _needed_ the money. And the reward for this 'simple assignment' would make them rich.

Spartus resumed running, looking back to ensure that his younger brother followed. Despite his exhaustion, Lasthan was doing his best to keep up, stumbling occasionally but moving along. He had asked a valid question: Where, indeed, were they going? There was nothing in this place but junk. And the dead, judging from the few charred corpses they ran by. The Voord had gone through here earlier, wiping out resistance with the brutal efficiency they had become known for. Spartus had little experience with their race, but what he had experienced so far had told him that they were bad news.

They kept running. The scrapyard was vast, perhaps a mile and a half in diameter, with a building dead in the centre. It was here that business would have been conducted, had the war not brought it to a halt. Now the building was a mess, its windows gone and pieces blown out of it by stray shots and grenades. Despite this, it presented the highest point in the scrapyard, and from the upper floors one would be able to see the entire compound. Sightinggthe building up ahead, Spartus knew that would be their destination. It did not appear to be occupied, as the Voord had certainly come through here but they had not stayed. Now a sizeable patrol was right at their backs, so a high vantage point would give the pair a significant advantage and increase their chances of survival. Clasping the box under one arm tightly, Spartus picked up his pace, rushing through a gate in a partially fallen wire fence that surrounded the central structure. Lasthan stumbled after him and Spartus, seeing his brother fall to the dirt, rushed to his side. Placing his pistol in its holster, he put his free arm around his brother and lifted him onto his feet. Potential safety was only a short distance ahead now, with the entrance to the main building about twenty metres in front of them. Spartus and Lasthan hobbled their way along the brief stretch of open ground before getting to the door, which Spartus crudely kicked open. Beyond it was a dusty, rubble-strewn corridor. He let Lasthan go, allowing him to stumble inside.

From somewhere distant, a white lance of energy seared through the air, striking the wall near Spartus. He ducked as part of the brickwork exploded and the heat of the energy beam washed over his left cheek. Any closer and he would have been burned and likely disfigured. Ducking down, his back against the wall, he turned his attention through the open doorway into the night outside. He pulled his pistol from its holster and raised it, scanning the darkness outside. A flash of movement up ahead made him fire, a blue bolt of energy leaving the barrel of his gun before it flashed off into the night, carrying with it a powerful wave of gravitational force that would have sent anyone it hit flying backwards several feet. Gravity-based weapons like that were illegal in most parts of the galaxy, but he had never been one to be much concerned with the 'legality' of the tools he used in his trade.

Another beam hit the doorway, splinters of wood exploding from the impact. Followed by another, that zipped by Spartus by mere inches before going down the length of the corridor. Lasthan shouted as it struck him in the upper back, and Spartus felt his hearts skip as he turned and saw his brother go down. Climbing onto his feet, he rushed to where Lasthan lay, a scorched black hole at his upper back, close to his right shoulder. Lasthan was still alive, groaning in pain, and Spartus grabbed him by the left arm and dragged him off into an adjoining room. He could hear the footsteps of his pursuers outside, no longer caring much for a stealthy approach. They knew that their targets were outnumbered. There was little reason to be careful.

"Las, look at me." Spartus looked down at his wounded brother. His eyes were glazing over, a tell-tale sign that he was going into shock. Dark red blood seeped out of the wound and spilled onto the floor. Harshly, he slapped Lasthan, forcing him to come out of his pain-induced reverie momentarily. They had no medical equipment with them. What first aid items they did have had been on their ship, a ship the Voord had rudely blown up.

"Don't give up on me," Spartus demanded. His hearts were pounding now. Easing his brother to the floor, he went to the nearest window. As he did so, he heard footsteps out in the corridor. Someone was rushing inside. Turning to the doorway, he watched as a Voord in all their black-armoured glory stepped into view. They were tall, perhaps seven feet in height, clad in sleek gleaming armour. Whatever they truly looked like was completely hidden underneath. The helmets for each one were unique for every Voord, and it was said that their masks were grafted onto their faces, essentially becoming part of them. Spartus did not think much about these finer details and he raised his pistol and fired, the force of the shot sending the Voord soldier flying backwards into the wall behind him. A gaping hole had been shot through his chest armour, spurting dark blue blood. The Voord lay motionless, slumped against the wall, his beam rifle falling from his grasp and clanking onto the tiled floor underfoot. However, this soldier had not been alone.

The window behind him smashed as a Voord soldier appeared in its frame, using the butt-end of his weapon to hammer away the glass. Spartus was up on his feet instantly, turning to face the intruder before firing his gravity pistol. The entire window exploded outwards, showering shards of glass and splinters of wood onto the ground outside. The Voord soldier's head exploded, splattering pieces of metal and blue blood and numerous meaty chunks outwards, some of which landed inside. The Voord's headless carcass flew backwards a short distance before slamming into the wire fence outside, causing it to rattle before his body hit the ground and came to rest upon the gravel below.

His brother was still breathing, but was only half-conscious. Spartus hefted up, putting an arm around his brother's shoulder. They were trapped inside, surrounded by a numerically superior force. As much as he hated to admit it, there appeared to be no way out. He liked to think he had been in tougher scrapes than this, but none came to mind. He was certainly not going to die here, and he sure was not about to let his brother die either. They had come here because Spartus had accepted the assignment and his brother had somewhat reluctantly tagged along, despite his misgivings. And in a way, it was his fault that they were both in this situation now, surrounded with no discernible way out.

He had to get them both out of here. He could hear more Voord soldiers rushing into the building. Whatever he and his brother had stolen from them, it must have been important. And the one who had hired them to steal it had expressly told them not to open the box that contained it. The more he thought about their employer, the more he realised just how little he knew about him. They had only communicated by audio, after all. Not unusual, as employers in the item-finding business liked to remain anonymous, but there had been something else about him that Spartus could not entirely put his finger on…

Another Voord soldier appeared in the doorway. Spartus blasted him, sending him landing into a heap on top of the one he had shot moments earlier. Both remained still, dark blue blood pooling around them. Stepping out into the corridor, with his brother hobbling along with him, Spartus turned and shot down another Voord who stepped into the building at the entrance further down the corridor. He went flying backwards through the doorway, as if hit by a missile, the front of his chest armour exploding into a mess of metal and meaty blue pieces. Two more came running for the doorway, keeping out of the line of fire. Spartus simply fired a shot into the wall to the right of the doorway, causing it to explode, knocking down the Voord on the other side and burying him under a pile of wood and masonry.

"Las, are you awake?" Spartus dragged his brother further down the corridor, taking him around a corner into a larger back room. Here, there were shelves covered with numerous spare parts taken from the many scrapped shuttles and ground vehicles within the scrapyard. Lasthan seemed to be awake somewhat, and he nodded his head in response to his older brother. Spartus kept an arm around him as they stopped in the backroom. Setting the box on a dusty table by the wall, Spartus popped it open. He was expecting some kind of rare gem or bioweapon, yet instead what sat inside was a bronze-coloured metal wristband of sorts, with an emblem on one side that appeared to be a seal of some sort, with intricate curving designs. There seemed to be nothing more to it and Spartus, in all his desperation, felt a spike of anger and went to sweep the box and the item it had contained off of the table. However, something stopped him. Even with the sounds of the approaching Voord encroaching upon the pair, he found himself strangely drawn to the large ring. Taking it up in one hand, it was warm to the touch, as if imbued with an energy of its own. Something stirred in his mind, and the world around him seemed to fade. Voord came running down the corridor, weapons raised. His brother's breathing was deep and ragged, blood seeping down his chest. As the enemy flowed into the room, Spartus found his gaze set firmly upon the ring.

There was something unique about it.

 _Where do you intend to go?_ Had he thought that? He could not be sure. Appearing in the doorway, the Voord Captain stopped, standing tall and broad, his silver armour gleaming in the uneven light of the fires from outside. The black slit on his mask that served as his eyes went to the pair of alien intruders, and then to the item held between Spartus' fingers. Slowly, he put out one hand, as if beckoning Spartus to hand it over.

Not that Spartus would. The other Voord levelled their rifles at him. There was no question what was about to happen. With death so close, Spartus found himself feeling oddly calm. A thought crossed his mind then, as if in response to the voice that had invaded his mind seconds before.

 _Anywhere but here._


	2. Moorland

**Moorland**

A time storm was meant to be one of the rarest occurrences in all of creation. A literal rupture in the space-time vortex, a time-storm was capable of drawing and depositing matter through time and space at a rapid and destructive pace, and that included devastating forms of energy that had the potential to leave entire planes smouldering cinders. They really should not happen at all, yet why then had the TARDIS found itself in the very epicentre of one?

The blue police box (which, really was not an actual police box) tilted, rolled and spun wildly throughout the vortex, battered by streaks of white energy. Transmitted energy and matter, pulled out of some other point in space and time before being crudely dragged through the vortex. Inside the abnormally large control room of the old Type-40, the Doctor worked frantically to keep the ship from being torn apart. Running around the console, pressing buttons, adjusting dials and yanking on all sorts of levers, the Doctor struggled to keep the TARDIS on its predetermined course. It had already drifted well away from the intended destination and resort world of Florana, and the interference from the storm had rendered the computers useless in determining whereabouts in time and space he may end up. Where and when were the least of his worries at this moment, as the Doctor rushed about the console, making the TARDIS fight against the forces of the time-storm. Papers fluttered about the control room, loosened by the rough ride, and a number of books fell from their shelf at one wall. Bolts of white energy lanced across the ceiling, crackling loudly, and for a moment the Doctor became aware of the smell of mud and rainwater. Presumably, this came from wherever he was headed, brought to him by the ravages of the time-storm. Matters transmitted through the vortex, and this was made clear when several clumps of mud fell from the ceiling and splattered on the floor near the console.

"Time for the emergency landing," the Doctor said aloud, despite being alone. Making a rough landing was the only way to break free of the storm. His only option, really, and as he yanked one particular lever on the console, the central column sparked and smoke started pouring from one panel. The engines croaked and groaned, and with an abrupt _thump_ that shook the whole TARDIS, the storm stopped and the winds that had been billowing about the control room ceased. The Doctor fell flat on his backside on the floor by the console. A plume of sparks burst from one of the computer monitors, raining upon him.

As the smoke cleared, he rose to his feet, regarding the print-out that had been spat from just underneath one set of controls. The readings on it were fascinating, primarily because of the surge of energy they were telling him had occurred. It had been what the TARDIS had locked on to, some kind of disruption in the time vortex, reminiscent of a less sophisticated means of time travel. Perhaps that was what had created the storm? The Doctor could only speculate. Whatever had happened, it was over now, and from the look of it the TARDIS would not be taking off again anytime soon. Putting the print-out aside, he dusted himself off.

"I've had better landings," he mused. "Now, though, to see where I've ended up." This was always his favourite part. What new place had he stumbled upon now? As he had expected, the scanner was not working. All manner of circuits had blown within the central controls. If he was going to leave anytime soon, he would need something to jump-start the tired, old engines. Aside from that, the cause of the time-storm was at the forefront of his mind.

"Time-storms should never happen. They're an impossibility. They _should_ be an impossibility." He said all this as he went over the central console, inspecting the damage done. "So, why would one happen? And what caused it?" He looked to the chalkboard up at one wall. Naturally, it was blank, and the answer was unlikely to come to him until he had more clues. "And where has it brought me? Better yet, who's been time travelling enough to make the TARDIS lock on to them? Those readings say a lot, but at the same time they say very little." He scratched thoughtfully at his chin. "Less sophisticated than a TARDIS, but more so than a vortex manipulator. What could do that? Who could do it?"

 _Now there was a mystery._

He turned to the doors. When it came to new locations, he really only had one way of being sure of where he was, and that was to go out and look. Composing himself, he hit a button on the panel, and the doors ahead began to swing open, emitting a quiet buzz as they moved. 

* * *

The weather was positively dreary on this particular morning. Cold and bitter, the sky was grey and overcast, and a cold but gentle breeze wafted across the northern moors of Scotland. Grass fluttered and the smell of moisture filled the air, signalling the coming of rain. On one mostly bare plain, with a town a short distance away, the normally eerie quiet was replaced by a constant metal groaning, as if someone was scraping a rock upon a hollow metal drum, again and again, growing louder and louder. Over one particularly large puddle, a narrow blue box appeared, seemingly from thin air. Police boxes had gone out of fashion during the twentieth century, so it was especially odd for one to appear in the middle of a muddy moor. Around it, bolts of white energy lanced about, roiling up its length as it asserted itself in reality. These cleared as it materialised, and the groaning noise ceased accordingly. After a minute, a tall man in a black jacket, with grey hair and piercing eyes, emerged from the police box. He closed the door behind him and stood looking out across the plain for a moment, as if he was thinking that he had come to the wrong place.

"I know that smell." He sniffed the air a few times, eyes scanning the horizon. "Twenty-first century Earth. But where?"

The TARDIS could be fickle in the way it flew, even more so after a tumultuous trip through the vortex. After all these years, the machine still had a mind of its own. Out in the cold open air, the Doctor took one further long, drawn out sniff: mud and moisture were the smells that stood out most. At least he knew where the mud inside the TARDIS had come from. And what year was it? The TARDIS had refused to show him that particular detail, so another, stronger sniff of the air gave him the faintest trace of petrol. Combustion engines were in use, so he was not too far into Earth's future.

Something had caused that time storm. Something else had caused that spike in temporal energy, the one that had seemingly guided the old Type-40 to this particular patch of Scottish countryside. Why, the Doctor had no idea. He intended to find out. As for taking off again, he had already tried that, and it had not worked as he had expected it. He could only assume that something had tethered the TARDIS to this time and place, and for the life of him he could not work out why. That, and the controls needed a good bit of maintenance. Still, he could not resist a good mystery and in a way, he found these excuses to stay here convenient.

"This is Scotland for sure," he said aloud, knowing full well no one else was around to hear him. Some would say talking to yourself was the first sign of madness. The Doctor had admitted on more than one occasion that he was already 'mad', so what did it matter? His voice carried a noticeable Scottish accent, which was a bonus in this case as he could blend in here just a little bit better than usual.

He gazed around the vast, empty plain. A stone wall ran along the far edge on his right, and beyond that he could see power-poles jutting up from above. A few houses stood near them, old looking stone ones, typical of the region. Confidently, the Doctor started towards them, his black shoes squelching in the mud and puddles underfoot. Despite this, it looked like there would be far more rain to come, and he made a mental note to himself to be indoors when it started. Somewhere distant, he heard some kind of seaside bird call, its drawn-out squawks echoing across the plain.

Passing through an opening in the old stone wall, one that probably dated back a few centuries in its construction, the Doctor found himself at the side of a very modern road that wound its way across the plains and between the hills that dotted the landscape. No cars drove by, it was far too early in the morning for traffic and this location was too remote anyway. The town nearby, further to his right, went on down a hillside and towards a rocky beach. A quick count of the buildings he could see allowed him to make an estimate of the local population: a few hundred at most, making for a typically modest town where everyone likely knew each other's names. Following the road by the first bunch of houses, the Doctor noted one building further down the road that appeared older than the others. A two-storey structure, with a front yard with overgrown grass and trees that had long since gone out of control. Stopping outside, a sign by the front gate told him what he needed to know about it: OLD GOAT INN.

"How very quaint," he said, upon reading the sign. He made his way to the front door, finding it unlocked, and upon pushing it a bell rang and a musty smell tinged with tobacco met his nostrils. Beyond was the front reception, comprised of a desk and shelves and tables piled with all manner of bric-a-brac, most of it related to local history, among them framed photos and old toys. There was a flintlock pistol in a glass case upon one wall, and a rusted old axe in another case at different wall. As the Doctor stepped inside, an old man in a striped shirt appeared behind the desk. He smelled of tobacco and his hair was long and white, reminding the Doctor of a younger version of himself. The old man gave him a friendly smile, revealing very few teeth remained.

"What can I do for ye?" The old man asked. His accent was thick, but understandable. The Doctor had not come in here for any particular reason, but since he was here now he figured he could get some use out of it.

"I'm a traveller," he replied, turning to face the man. "Perhaps you could help me? I was looking around and I thought maybe someone like the local innkeeper would know of anything unusual that might be happening in town? Usually you innkeepers are very good at keeping up with the local gossip? Or is that the bartenders? Or even the gardeners?" He trailed off. "You know; I really can't remember." The Doctor's eyes went to a calendar on the wall. According to that, it was February 2027. He certainly would not have guessed as much, from the look of the place.

"Unusual?" The old man frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Disappearances? Bumps in the night? Lights in the sky?" The Doctor watched the man as he spoke, but the innkeeper seemed only borderline interested. "Things like that?"

"Nothing ever happens around here," the innkeeper replied. "Exactly what are you doing in town, mister?"

"Wandering."

"You a vagrant?"

"In a way." The Doctor smiled. "You're not going to have me arrested, are you?"

The innkeeper shook his head.

"No, not at all. What gave you that idea?"

"Oh, nothing, really. It just wouldn't be the first time I've arrived somewhere new and been arrested before." The Doctor drifted over to one of the displays on the far wall. Some of these items were definite collector's pieces, likely worth a fair bit of money. A rusted axe-head was in one glass case, and according to the newspaper clippings accompanying it, the axe-head dated back to about the tenth or eleventh centuries, when Vikings were fairly common in this part of the world. Another clipping, concerning an old fortress, caught the Doctor's eye. The innkeeper noticed the direction of his gaze and spoke up, his tone level.

"You one of them archaeologist types, then?" The innkeeper asked.

The Doctor answered without hesitation. There was an opportunity here, he realised. Perhaps a path to the answers he sought.

"Yes, yes I am." He turned around, his eyes going to the innkeeper. "Why do you ask?"

"You're not here about that dig they've been doing?"

"Oh, _the dig_. Of course, the dig. Why wouldn't I know about the dig?" The Doctor smiled at him. A few little lies here and there would not hurt. "I just need directions to it, that's all. My car broke down, not too far from here."

"I have a phone, if you need it."

"It can wait. I'm more interested in this dig." The newspaper clipping behind him dated back a few years. The headline read, 'CONTROVERSIAL CAPTAIN IN ARCHAEOLOGICAL FEUD' and had pictured a rundown stone fortress, not unlike the many medieval structures that dotted the landscape of Scotland.

"Some wealthy fellah's gone and started digging up the old fortress on Pickarn's Ridge," the innkeeper explained. "Got into a bit of trouble over it. Some historical types didn't want him damaging a piece of history like that."

"Understandable."

"But this old fellah, some kind of Captain, at least he says he is, he got his way and they've been chipping away at the tunnels underneath the old fortress for a few years now." The innkeeper shrugged. "Rumour has it there's some kind of secret chamber filled with treasure, but I don't believe that. Any treasure in a place like that would be long gone."

"How can you be so sure?" The Doctor raised his brows as he leaned forwards slightly, the movement enough to make the innkeeper look slightly uncomfortable. The old man likely had no idea how to react to such a character. "Secret chambers are all the rage when it comes to archaeological digs. And if it's secret, then surely it's been untouched?" Granted, someone else could have cleared it out years ago, but the Doctor's instincts told him otherwise. Now his curiosity was certainly piqued and he knew he would not be able to leave until he had taken a thorough look at this Captain's dig site.

"I don't know, mister. But if you need to get there, there's a bus that'll be leaving in about half an hour from a stop just further down the road. It'll take you right by the old fortress."

"That's exactly what I need," the Doctor replied. He took one final look around, but his mind was set on the fortress. No need to waste any more time. This was what travelling time and space was about, to have the freedom to go where he pleased and investigate the many mysteries of the universe. The fortress seemed as good a place as any, and there had to be some reason why the TARDIS had brought him here, after all, or why a time-storm of all things had occurred. Nothing particularly interesting happened at this time, from what he could recall. Still, his knowledge of twenty-first century Earth was a bit spotty.

"You don't want to use the phone?"

"My, ah, _car_ will be fine." The Doctor turned and started for the door, leaving the innkeeper to his own devices. Outside, a chilly breeze wafted across the moor. Somewhere distant, he heard the foghorn of a boat, presumably a large cargo hauler, sounding out from a great distance offshore. A car trundled by, a small grey one that looked about twenty years old and probably held together by duct tape. As he had expected, an elderly man was at the wheel, gently guiding it around a corner further ahead. The Doctor continued further down the road, finding the bus stop to the left, nothing more than a sign on a pole.

Often, when he was alone, the Doctor's mind worked in overdrive. It was a symptom of what he was, and what he had seen and been through. Travelling alone, the only company he had was himself and perhaps the TARDIS. It was during these times he came up with his more outlandish and unlikely ideas, when there was nothing to distract him but the hum of the TARDIS' inner workings and the occasional beeps that emanated from the control console. He got a lot of thinking done during the twenty minutes he waited for the bus. After this, he had come to the conclusion that the TARDIS had indeed brought him here for a reason, but it was not one he could completely narrow down. He intended to find out what had drawn the TARDIS here. Granted, from experience he had a feeling that the reason would show itself soon enough. 

* * *

There was hardly anyone on the grey, rickety bus that arrived. The Doctor stepped on board and fished out a few period coins from a pocket in his jacket after some fiddling, all the while the old man in the driver's seat stared at him. Finally, after paying his fare, the Doctor sat down in a seat just behind a young dark-haired woman in a beige coloured coat. She was tapping a touch-screen pad, something that was typical for this era: it seemed that everybody on a bus or a train would have their head buried in some kind of screen, oblivious to the sights of the world around them. It seemed a waste, and the Doctor paid keen attention to what lay outside. How long had it been since he had been in Scotland? Thinking like that was a touch confusing with time travel. The Doctor settled into the torn vinyl seat, aware that the woman sitting in front of him had turned to look at him, recognition on her face. Her brown eyes were certainly focused on him intently, at least for a moment before whatever effect he had had on her wore off.

"You ought to enjoy the sights," the Doctor said, leaning forwards a little. "I only just got here, but I think the open air's already lifting my spirits." He glanced at the woman's data-pad. "Get your head out of that thing, once in a while."

"This?" The woman had an English accent and the Doctor pinned her as someone as coming from somewhere in, or near, London. She held the data-pad up and shrugged. "It's work. I have to be online twenty-four seven."

"No job's that important," the Doctor countered. "I'd peg you for a tourist, but I don't think even the most ignorant tourists would get caught up in their work like you are. What do you do for a living? You look like a reporter to me. Am I right?"

The woman narrowed her eyes, likely startled by all the questions, but she quickly smiled at him.

"Yes, yes I am." She put out a hand. "I'm a reporter, from the _Robin Hood Post_. It's a small independent Internet publication. Maybe you've heard of us?"

"Can't say that I have." The Doctor smiled at her warmly. "Still, I do admire the smaller ones. You have to work twice as hard to get yourselves heard over the bigger publications."

"Exactly." The woman seemed to be warming up to him. That was a good sign, as the Doctor had figured his extended bout of travelling alone might have left his social skills a bit rusty. "My name's Abigail Mullins."

The Doctor took her hand and shook it heartily.

"I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor…?"

"Smith." He said this without any hesitation whatsoever.

"What kind of doctor are you?" She released the handshake and looked at him curiously, tilting her head slightly with the kind of movement one might expect from a curious cat. The Doctor figured her to be in her late-twenties, well out of university and moving up in the world ever so gradually.

"Oh, I do a bit of everything." The Doctor received an odd glance from her and he was quick to elaborate. "I mean, right now I'm _really_ into archaeology. Digging up old bits and pieces. You could say that history is one of my specialities."

"An archaeologist?" Abigail sounded intrigued. "So you must be headed for the old fortress?"

"Not a very well-kept secret, is it?"

"There was a big controversy a few years ago. Some people tried to stop the digging from taking place, but the guy running it got his own way in the end. It's not really a secret, certainly not around here."

The Doctor nodded. Apparently, this fortress business was important enough to get around. Certainly important enough to draw in an _independent_ journalist, but probably not important enough to draw in anyone from some big-name publication. The sort of news that would appeal to a niche, rather than the masses. The sort of thing the Doctor felt himself drawn towards, and all this realisation did was make him all the more intrigued to discover exactly what kind of secrets this old fortress was harbouring. It could have been nothing, but he had a hunch that there was certainly _something_ to it.

The bus trundled along the winding road, heading out of the town and into the countryside. To one side, the moors and hills went on for as far as the eye could see. To the right, an uneven hillside that eventually gave way to the ice cold sea of the north. The sky above seemed to be perpetually grey, and the rain that looked like it was about to come seemed to be delaying its eventual arrival.

"So, you think there's a story to be found at the fortress?" The Doctor asked Abigail.

"Maybe. I'm sure there's something to be told, even if it's just about the history of the place. It goes way back to the Viking times, you know?"

"There must be a few legends about it, then?"

"There are legends all over Scotland," Abigail replied. "I don't know about this fortress. The whole region has had its tales, about pagan cults and monsters on the moors. There's practically a Loch Ness monster for every puddle around here."

"You've been out here before?"

"No." Abigail shook her head. "But I've done a lot of reading. You could say this is my first trip beyond Manchester. What about you?"

"Me?" The Doctor spent a moment thinking about his response carefully. "Oh, I've been all over. Scotland included. Can't say I've heard of this old fortress, but that's what I'm here for. I've got some digging to do."

"You could show me around," Abigail suggested. "When you have the time, naturally. You've probably got a lot of work to do, looking for artefacts."

The Doctor nodded, despite this only being partly true.

"You could say that."

The bus continued on its way, heading along a curving road that ran along a steep slope with only a short metal barrier between them and a fifty-foot tumble onto the rocks and water below. The driver seemed untroubled, going on without so much as giving the drop a glance. There were only a few other people on the bus, locals mostly, and one middle-aged couple who were obviously tourists. They were snapping photos of the surrounding landscape and of themselves, all smiles and laughter.

"You have any idea how far it is?" The Doctor asked her. Abigail looked back at him and nodded her head, before reaching into one pocket on her jacket and pulling out a folded up map. She handed it to the Doctor, who spread it out before him, and she pointed to where she had made a red circle. The fortress was right up against the coastline, and she pointed at where they were about now.

"It'll probably be another twenty minutes," she said. "But it's not far now. It sits right on a cliff overlooking the sea. Perfect tourist spot, but the place has been closed off to the public since they started the digging."

The Doctor looked over the map carefully. There appeared to be no other towns along the way, and the one they had left behind was labelled as 'Machara'. There was a small marker further inland, but no visible label for it.

"What's that, way out there?" He asked.

"I think that's the new power station," Abigail replied. "They've put it well out of the way, but they're supposed to be putting together a big network of power conduits that should provide power to half of England. It's still in its research stage."

"Must be a pretty good power station," the Doctor said.

"Some kind of new reactor, I don't know." Abigail did not sound too concerned. The Doctor felt some slight disappointment. Putting something like that in the middle of Scotland felt like a blemish upon the landscape, but he knew it would be some time before anything more sophisticated would be employed by humanity. For now, massive power stations and prototype power generators were all the rage.

"Personally, I don't like the thought of something like that, even out here," Abigail said, as if reading his mind.

"I'm sure it'll be fine." The Doctor folded up the map and handed it back to her. "It would have to be, otherwise we'd all be in serious trouble." He smiled at her then, but she just gave him a funny look in return.

"You know a bit about that sort of thing?"

"Like I said, I know a bit about _everything_ ," the Doctor replied. "If you've travelled as much as I have, you pick up on things."

"What kind of places have you travelled to?"

"Oh, pretty much _everywhere_. I don't like to stay in the one place for too long."

"You must have a fair bit of money, if you're able to do that."

The Doctor shook his head. It always came down to money in the end, not just for humans but for pretty much every civilized race short of the Time Lords.

"You don't need money to travel," the Doctor replied. "There are plenty of other ways it can be done without having to spend a cent."

Abigail nodded her head, although she did not look convinced. The whole bus lurched then, as the driver put it over a speed-hump along the road. Further ahead, the road crossed a vast open plain, with hills far against the horizon. The fortress lay in the far distance, stark against the grey sky, sitting precariously on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the freezing cold waters. The building was old and had fallen down in places, as one would expect for a place that had not seen proper maintenance for a few hundred years. A tall stone wall surrounded its inner keep, and four spires jutted out high above the rest of the structure, likely providing any potential guard a view that went on for miles. It was the kind of foreboding looking location the Doctor would not be able to resist exploring, and even if this trip was for naught, he could at least get a look round the place.

"That's it there," Abigail said, looking ahead and spotting the fortress. "Looks like something out of a horror film."

"I think it was the inspiration." The Doctor sat back in his chair, wondering just what he might be walking into. Nothing, most likely, but the dreary landscape and ominous stone fortress gave him some pause for thought. Still, curiosity was the overriding factor here, and no matter his feelings he wanted to see inside. Really, who would _not_ want to see inside?


	3. The Dig

**The Dig**

Traveller and collector Captain Edmund Lockwood was a tall, authoritative looking man in his late fifties. His shoulders were broad and his belly carried the slightest bit of noticeable weight, a side effect of having been off his travels for some years. Besides that, for a man of his age he was in better shape than most. His doctor had outright told him that during his last check-up, only a few months earlier. With that in mind, Lockwood had an actual reason to feel good about himself.

Dressed in a beige safari shirt, Lockwood was seated in his office within the old fortress. The dusty and mossy stone walls were cast in dry yellow glows from the numerous light fittings that had been placed throughout the fortress' interior. He sat behind a glazed mahogany desk, one he had specially ordered from Austria. His paperwork was spread out before him, and was in this case literally made out of paper rather than on some kind of touch-screen device. Lockwood was old-fashioned at heart, and the latest technological marvels had failed to capture his attention. He had everything written down, most of which he memorized anyway. Despite his age, his memory was in perfect shape.

This office was mostly bare. Much of his personal belongings were at his home a few miles south, an old seaside estate that he had purchased about five years previously. This fortress was a sort of home away from home, but the place was so dreary in atmosphere he found that he could not stay here during the night. It was simply too oppressive in the dark, as if the air itself weighed upon him. Even some of the workers, the excavators and the researchers, had complained of something similar. The last time he had spent the night here, he had woken up from a terrible nightmare, and it had been more than enough to convince him to leave here once the sun was down. For now, though, they had several hours of daylight left. Not that it made much of a difference, with the skies almost perpetually overcast at this time of year.

Rifling through pages of notes, he placed them aside and returned to his cup of hot tea. His aide, Ronaldson, was especially good at making a cup of tea. It was part of the reason he had hired the man. Taking a sip, he let the warmth into him, aware that a draughty cold breeze was whistling its way from upstairs. A wooden shutter was off to his right, opening onto the sprawling vista of the plains outside, as well as providing a view of the inner keep below. He was up in the most intact (and safe) guard tower. The others were in varying states of disrepair, having gone so long without proper maintenance. Lockwood did find how high up he was positively riveting, as it gave him a view of the entire fortress. A king overlooking his kingdom, almost. With that thought, he recalled that there had been talk of him being knighted, but no one from the royal family had called him about it so he would have to tolerate with it being mere rumour. Disappointing, certainly, but the fact that the rumour existed was testament to his quality of character and the fame his deeds had brought him. He had hunted many creatures, found many valuable items of antiquity. If anyone was deserving of knighthood, it was him.

His face, weathered with age, carried thick sideburns that connected to a well-trimmed beard at his chin and over his mouth. An old-fashioned look, the sort that had gone out of fashion during the 1900s, but he felt it gave him character. People were more likely to look his way with facial hair like he had.

The door to the office, a bulky wooden one, creaked open. Lockwood looked up, watching as Ronaldson, a tall but think man in a grey suit and tie, walked inside. He seemed anxious, although this was not uncharacteristic of him. Ronaldson was a touch neurotic, at least to Lockwood, and the Captain would be the first to admit that he was no psychologist. Still, Ronaldson had that awkward air about him. Even now, just from the way he walked in, with the slightly uneven swagger, as if he had trouble putting one foot in front of the other, told Lockwood that the man was nervous.

"What is it, Ronaldson?" Lockwood's accent was that of a well-educated British aristocrat, the sort who had come from a wealthy family and ended up in wealth himself. Yet, unlike most born into wealth now, Lockwood had worked hard for much of his life. The many dangerous deeds he had on record confirmed this.

"Sir, it looks like Doctor Ridgeford's team has uncovered something," Ronaldson replied. "A significant find, from what I've been told."

"Significant?" Lockwood raised a brow. "He's used that word before, Ronaldson. I've learned not to take it at face value."

"I think you should go down to the dig site and see for yourself," Ronaldson said.

"I'm surprised he's made progress. Just the other day he was complaining about the safety precautions around here. I thought he might have procrastinated after that. Done his best to delay things until they were more 'safe'." Lockwood said the last word with a roll of his eyes. This place was as safe as could be, there had been no deaths on-site and only the occasional injury. Granted, one worker had lost their left arm in a cave-in, but other than that things were running smoothly.

"Ridgeford says he's found a door, sir."

"A door?" Lockwood snorted derisively. "That could mean anything. A door to what? More dirt? More rock? I need actual progress and I certainly don't need him reporting such mundane things as if it's worthy news."

"I've seen it myself, sir. It isn't an ordinary door."

Lockwood had come to trust Ronaldson's word, so this latest statement piqued his interest. Ronaldson usually had a good eye for things.

"What do you mean?"

"It's made of metal, sir."

"Doesn't mean much. I think they could have forged a metal door or two back in the eleventh century, don't you?" Lockwood smiled at this little remark, although Ronaldson seemed unsure of how to respond.

"It's set into a rock wall, sir. It's got no handle."

"A door without a handle?" Lockwood kept smiling. This was starting to sound strange. Still, he had encountered a fair few 'outlandish' things in his lifetime, so underneath his humorous smile he was very much intrigued. "So, it's an automatic door, then?"

"It looks that way."

"An automatic door underneath a tenth century fortress?" Lockwood leaned forwards slightly, narrowing his eyes towards his assistant. "Tell me Ronaldson, does that make any sense to you?"

"Ridgeford asked me that exact same question," Ronaldson replied. "But you can go and see it for yourself, sir."

Lockwood rose from his chair. From one pocket he produced an old wooden pipe, a family heirloom at that, and placed the end to his mouth. Bringing a match from a pocket in the front of his shirt, he ignited it and placed it to the tobacco stuffed into the pipe's open top end. Smoke began to waft from it, and Lockwood took a lengthy puff as he considered Ronaldson's news. Could they have found the rumoured hidden chamber? It seemed that way.

"Can the door open?" Lockwood asked.

"That's just it, sir. There's no visible way to get it open."

Lockwood considered the possibilities briefly. Explosives came to mind, but those could easily cause a cave-in, no mattered how well controlled they might have been. The smallest error could send part of the fortress falling into the Earth. How many people would be killed from such an accident? Too many, he suspected. The disgrace that would bring him would be severe. He had already endured enough trouble from the historical preservation types who had tried to stop this excavation. Still, if one had enough money and enough wealthy friends, they could essentially do whatever they wanted. This was a fact that Lockwood had learned from a very young age.

"I'll go down and take a look," Lockwood said. He took the pipe from his mouth, letting it waft smoke from his fingers. The smell of burning tobacco filled the office. "If I might say so, Ronaldson, but it would appear that we may have stumbled upon the secret chamber after all. The rumours were true."

"It looks that way, sir."

Lockwood took another puff on his pipe before he started for the door, going by Ronaldson and heading out of his office. The stairwell beyond was a spiralling one, working its way down the tower towards ground level. During his time here, Lockwood had had a metal handrail bolted into one wall, allowing him to grip something as he worked his way along the stairs. A tumble down these would be painful.

Ridgefield followed him and the pair gradually made their way into the inner grounds of the fortress, stepping through a doorway and into the cold outside air.

Out here, the ground underfoot was wet and muddy and the air carried the strong smell of moisture. Rain was on its way, not uncommon for this part of the world. Lockwood crossed the mostly empty stretch of ground between the outer wall and the inner keep, his boots squelching in the mud underfoot. A few guards wandered by, hired help mainly, patrolling the keep and doing what they could to keep out any sticky-nosed journalists. Those had been a problem in recent months, especially with all the controversy surrounding the dig. Lockwood had a great disdain for the modern media, one he did not bother to hide in the few interviews he had given.

The inner keep took up most of the ground within the main walls. From the outside, it was a blocky stone structure that was about three floors in height, with stained-glass windows and simply empty window-ways here and there. A chapel was just to its left, its walls having fallen down in some places and some of its windows simply smashed in, presumably from a long time ago. The main door of the keep was wide open, allowing Lockwood and Ridgefield to enter the hall beyond. Again, it was mostly bare, as all the medieval furniture had been cleared out when the fortress itself had been abandoned. Lockwood's people had put a few tables and chairs around to try and give the place some creature comforts, but on a whole it was a mostly grey, dark and dismal looking place. Down a corridor from this main hall was a stairwell through a set of wooden double doors that lead underground, into a cavernous basement of sorts where the local civilians would take shelter in the case of an enemy attack, were it still the eleventh century. Passing another pair of guards, Lockwood traversed the staircase, heading into the depths of the fortress. Light fittings had been placed along the walls, casting yellow illumination but doing little to remove the strangely oppressive atmosphere of the place. Lockwood tried to not allow himself to be bothered by such 'feelings', but even the workers here had complained of it, spreading rumours that the whole place was 'cursed'. That was simply superstition, naturally. Lockwood had travelled the world and seen many strange things, but all of those had a basis in rationality and science. Superstition was simply that and nothing more.

The basement was large, with a tunnel leading down into a sizeable cavern filled with seawater. Down here, digging equipment had been left set up here and there, and numerous portable lights left the place in a whitish, yellowish glow that cast shadows about the walls and floors. Workers milled around on their assigned duties, as did guards on their patrols. Most of the guards were private contractors, outfitted in standard black vests and grey uniforms that marked them as Lockwood's personnel.

Walking through the tunnel into the seawater cavern, it was here that most of the work had been taking place. A tunnel had been hewn into the far wall, and at the end of it was Ridgefield, the main researcher. He had a doctorate in archaeology, or so Lockwood had been told. The tunnel had hit a dead-end, from what Lockwood could see. It ended at a wall of some sort that, despite being covered in a thick layer of dirt, was unmistakably metal in appearance. Intricate designs were etched along its width, and the door Ronaldson had mentioned was apparent right away. Even as Lockwood approached, he could see that there was no visible way to open it.

"Ridgefield," Lockwood called, getting the man's attention. Ridgefield was averagely built, dressed in a dirtied beige shirt and similarly coloured trousers. He was in his forties, with a youngish complexion and dark hair. "Is this the door?" He stopped a short distance behind Ridgefield, who had been busy chipping away at the dirt caked across it with a metal trowel.

"Yes it is." Ridgefield's accent was vague, as if he had never settled in one place long enough to develop a full one. He did, however, sound almost proud of this find. "It's a metal door, all right. There's no visible way to open it."

"Of course there isn't," Lockwood replied. "That would be too easy. I suspect we've found the hidden chamber from all those legends. Despite everything, legends often have a grain of truth to them."

Ridgefield nodded his head slowly.

"Have you tried scanning it?" Lockwood asked.

"The scanners can't penetrate the metal," Ridgefield explained. "It's most curious. Only a handful of known alloys would be able to do such a thing. We've got no way of knowing what's behind it, if there is even anything behind it anyway. There could easily have been a cave-in on the other side, blocking the whole thing."

"You don't know that for sure." Lockwood narrowed his eyes, surveying the door carefully. There were no hinges, just a visibly and slightly curved door shape set into the wall, one with intricate and curving designs etched across its width.

"I'm simply speculating," Ridgefield said.

"I don't pay you to speculate. I want this door opened, and I don't care what it takes. Someone put it here for a reason. Presumably to keep people out, to keep their hands off of whatever items are stored inside."

"Could there be traps?" Ronaldson was the one to ask this, causing both men to turn to look at him. "Isn't that what's usually down in these old places? Traps? Spikes in the walls and things like that?"

"This isn't an Egyptian tomb," Lockwood countered. "We're in Scotland. Booby traps under a fortress are very unlikely. What we have here is something not entirely of the time period it should be from."

"What do you mean?"

"A mechanical metal door under a tenth century fortress? That doesn't make a lick of historical sense." Lockwood turned back around to face the door again, mulling over what it could mean. "Essentially, we've stumbled across an anachronism. It could even be something not of this world, buried and forgotten. A crashed spacecraft."

Ridgefield audibly snorted then. Lockwood glanced his way, eyebrow raised.

"You don't think so, Doctor Ridgefield?"

"It's very unlikely," Ridgefield said. "This is a sealed chamber, nothing more. I'll believe aliens are involved when I see them. And so far, no little green men have bothered to make themselves known."

Lockwood preferred to keep an open mind, mostly because of his past encounters in other parts of the world that had very much showed him that aliens were not some kind of fantastical thing only ever seen in films and on television. He felt like telling Ridgefield of just how real they were, but he decided against it, as it would simply be a waste of time. Next time the archaeologist paid a visit to his house, Lockwood figured he could show the man a few things that might change his mind.

"Regardless, I want this door open," Lockwood said.

"We could use a few controlled detonations," Ridgefield suggested. "Around the door, as to blow it open."

"No, no, we can't risk that." Lockwood shook his head. "We could bring the whole cavern down on our heads, and then the whole fortress would fall in. What I suggest is that you dig around the door and find out just how big the chamber is, and whether there's another way inside. There probably isn't one, but it's best we cover all our bases with something like this." He took another drag on his pipe then, as he considered their options. "In the meantime, I'll see if I can't get some specialists in to deal with this door. There must be a way to open it, after all, it _is_ a door and doors are designed to open up." Lockwood had a few people in mind, among his many contacts. One did not get far in his line of work without gaining a lot of friends and having them owe a few favours.

He turned around to leave Ridgefield and the digging crew to their work. A guard approached then, a youngish looking man with blonde hair.

"Mr Lockwood," the guard said. Lockwood stopped, raising a brow.

"What is it?"

"There's a couple of people out the front, at the perimeter," the guard said. "One's some kind of journalist who wants to speak to you. The other says he's some sort of 'doctor' who may be able to help us."

"A doctor?" Lockwood frowned, mulling this over for a moment. "Did he give a name?"

"No sir." The guard seemed confused. "He just said he wanted to speak to you. That he might be able to help. He had an ID with him, says he was from Oxford."

"Hmm. I'll see him, but the journalist needs to leave. I've no time for those sorts." Lockwood thoughtfully chewed on the end of his pipe. He could use any help he could get here, and if some 'doctor' wanted to offer his services he would at least like to see the man's credentials. Lockwood did not turn away talent, even if it rocked up to his front door unannounced. That, and his curiosity was practically telling him to go out and meet the man. There were guards everywhere, so it was unlikely anything bad would happen and if it did, the guards would deal with it promptly. This fortress was probably more secure now than it had been far back in the eleventh century, when it had actually been in use.

"You sure, sir?" The guard sounded surprised.

"Don't worry about me," Lockwood said. "You can't blame me for being curious about our visitors, can you? Some of them are fairly entertaining, the loons especially." He chuckled then, although the guard seemed confused and did not reply. Lockwood left Ridgefield to deal with the mysterious door before heading out and back up into the fortress itself.

* * *

"Hey, get your hands off me!" The young lady, the journalist, was being somewhat callously manhandled by a guard as Lockwood stepped up towards the perimeter gate. Since the dig had started, a wire fence had been put around the perimeter of the fortress, with the main gate taking up the width of the one gravel road that went through the area. Out here, it was cold and dismal, as it so often was this time of year. A booth was near the gate, populated by a pair of guards who stood alert at the two recent visitors. Lockwood stopped before the wire gate, looking through it at the pair. The woman was putting up a fight, whereas the man, the Oxford doctor, stood nearby with his hands behind his back whilst he leaned forwards, eyes scanning his surroundings carefully. He was tall, with short greying hair and sharply defined features. His eyes looked older than he was and looking at them now, Lockwood felt that those eyes had seen a great deal more than one might expect from a middle-aged looking man.

"Let her go," Lockwood ordered. The guard released his grip on the troublemaking journalist and she shot him a cruel look as he did so.

"She tried to jump the fence further down," the guard said.

"Did you now?" Lockwood narrowed his eyes towards the young woman. "This is a secure excavation site, young lady. Trespassing is illegal."

"I was curious," the woman said.

"Aren't we all?" It was the other visitor, the tall man from Oxford, who spoke then. His accent was heavily Scottish, so he was most likely some sort of local, at least hailing from the region before going off to gain his doctorate. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small black wallet, one that unfolded, showing a piece of paper with a slightly hazy ID upon it. Lockwood had to squint to get the text clear enough.

"You're from Oxford, are you?" Lockwood asked. He did not really believe it, and the man with the hazy ID folded it away and placed it back inside his jacket.

"Doctor…" He trailed off, before correcting himself. "Well, _Professor_ Smith, actually." the man said. He held out one hand to shake, but withdrew it when he remembered that the wire gate was in the way. "I heard about what you were doing here and I just had to check it out." He gave a broad smile, bearing a set of pearly whites that most people his age would be envious of. "What is so special about this fortress, mister…?" He trailed off, awaiting clarification.

"I am Captain Edmund Lockwood, traveller and hunter _and_ collector." Lockwood returned the smile as best he could, despite his doubts as to this man's credentials. "This fortress, _Professor_ , is a mostly untouched wealth of historical artefacts. There are many tales of the things that went on here, when Viking raids were commonplace and violence was a way of life."

"Rumours of a hidden chamber as well, from what I've heard." This Professor seemed to know more than he was letting on. Either that, or he was simply _pretending_ to know more. That would certainly be a good way to gleam information, would it not? Regardless, Lockwood could not be entirely sure and figured he would play along. Maybe this Professor would prove to be useful? Surely he would be better than Ridgefield?

"Indeed, those are the rumours," Lockwood replied. "So far we've found some old weapons, a few pieces of armour. The usual sort of thing."

"Is that so?" The Professor appeared genuinely curious. "Nothing more than that?"

Standing out here in the cold, faced with two strangers, Lockwood had no reason to tell these two anymore than he already had.

"I find it strange that someone from Oxford, of all places, has come out here to my humble operation." Lockwood glanced at the woman, the journalist, who had been listening carefully the whole time. "And you dragged a reporter along with you."

"She dragged herself," the Professor replied. "We just met and we just happened to be going to the same place."

"I'm sure." Lockwood motioned to the guard standing near the woman. "Escort her out of here. And make it clear that if she tries to break in again, we will get the police involved."

"What happened to freedom of the press?" The woman complained. The guard near her gently pulled her backwards, turning her to face away from the gate. The man from Oxford watched the whole thing with an expression that suggested he was thinking to intervene.

"Don't try vouching for her," Lockwood replied, causing the Professor to turn his way. "I despise the press. All bought and paid for, nothing but propagandists."

"Oh, but she was from an independent publication," the Professor said.

"Strictly no reporters on these premises," Lockwood said, his voice taking a somewhat sterner tone. "Now you, Professor Smith, you I could have some use for. Are you familiar with the medieval history of this region?"

The Professor looked around the area, his eyes widening somewhat, as if he were taking it all in.

"Why, it's my specialty. You could say I'm a man of history."

"Good to hear. Of course, I can't just let you in here." There was something about this man that Lockwood could not entirely put his finger on. A strange feeling, an aura even, as if there was a lot more to him than just a mere university Professor.

"Can I take a look around? Pretty please?" The Professor smiled at him. "I could be helpful. I have a very good knowledge of the history in Scotland. You could almost say I've got first-hand experience." He said this last part in a way that made it sound a lot more serious than Lockwood would have expected. After some thought, Lockwood nodded to the guard near the gate.

"Bring him in," he said. "Keep an eye on him, but bring him in."

The guard obeyed, flicking a switch that started the gate sliding open. The Professor stepped through, all the while the young reporter was escorted away by another guard.

"I don't normally just let anybody in," Lockwood said. "I've had a lot of trouble with historical preservation sorts. They don't like someone digging up an old fortress."

"I'm sure you've taken all necessary precautions to make sure you don't damage anything," the Professor said, in a way that made it clear he was not entirely convinced of this himself. Lockwood did not say anything to this, he did not have to answer himself to a stranger. The fortress itself was intact, it was the caverns underneath that were the focus of the excavation.

"I'd like to see the excavation," the Professor said. "Archaeologist's curiosity."

"Of course. You might be surprised to hear that there is an entire network of tunnels and caverns under the fortress. Some might have been constructed by those who used the fortress, but there are other, natural formations in place. It's rather fascinating."

"A mix of both, then?"

"It looks that way. Some of the tunnels have been blocked off by rock-falls over time, but I suspect they would have led to escape routes for the people inside the fortress." Lockwood lead the way across the open, grassy moor around the fortress. Ahead, the grey stone structure stood stark against the cloudy sky, almost ominous in the way its towers jutted high above everything else.

"The place has an eerie air, doesn't it?" Lockwood asked. The Professor regarded the fortress ahead with a narrowed brow and examining gaze. He was taking it all in, that much was clear. He likely felt the same sense of foreboding Lockwood often did when he was approaching the place, as if the fortress itself would open up and swallow him whole. Even in its ageing state, with parts of the walls crumbling and three of the four towers in varying stages of disrepair, the place still carried an oppressive air. It was no ordinary fortress or castle, like the many others that littered the Scottish landscape. And it was no tourist spot either; it appeared that even tourists had made it a point to skip this particular stop and leave it from their itineraries.

"It's good to find someone else who shares my interest in history," Lockwood said, as they approached the fortress' main entrance. "Too many people nowadays simply don't care for what happened before them. It's a generation of computers and social media, with little regard for history."

"I'd say that's a bit of a generalisation," the Professor said.

"It's quite accurate, I assure you." He motioned through the open entrance into the grounds of the fortress. "After you, Professor Smith."


	4. The Fortress

**Fortress**

The Doctor was not sure of what to make of Lockwood. He seemed amiable, friendly at points, but there was a sterner streak underneath that upper-class demeanour and almost stereotypical old-fashioned Britishness he carried with him. Even the way he dressed seemed a stereotype, as safari shirts had long gone out of fashion. With that in mind, the Doctor had long since given up trying to keep track of human fashion, so for all he knew, Captain Lockwood's choice of attire was perfectly within the common tastes of the time. An admittedly uninteresting time, as the Doctor was trying to think of something he knew about that had taken place in 2027. Even as he followed Lockwood into the grounds of the fortress, past its great and crumbling stone walls, he had difficulty trying to think of anything genuinely noteworthy.

Lockwood took him into the main keep. It was a dark grey structure, mossy in places, with visible holes in its outer walls where masonry had fallen apart over time. The inner hall was lit by portable lights set at each corner, and a long wooden table was at one wall where a number of rusted items had been placed. The finds of the dig, no doubt, and the Doctor made his way over to the table, driven by insatiable curiosity. Lockwood stopped nearby and turned to him, a smile creeping upon his weathered features.

"I dare say, we've found a few things of interest," Lockwood said. The Doctor picked up an old axe-head, rusted completely, but the sort of thing a collector or history expert was likely to swoon over. Looking over it carefully, it was certainly the genuine article. Putting it down, the Doctor quickly surveyed the rest of the items, most of which were parts of weapons and armour, all rusted with age.

"Weapons, mostly," Lockwood said. "A few coins here and there. Nothing too exciting."

"This whole lot looks like a significant find to me," the Doctor commented. "Unless you're looking for something else." He paused. "I'm surprised this place wasn't dug up sooner."

"It was protected by some historical heritage group," Lockwood replied. He shrugged, an oddly callous motion. Just as quickly as it showed, it was gone, and the middle-aged traveller, collector and amateur archaeologist was back again. "Hence all the controversy. I take it you heard of it all?"

The Doctor nodded vigorously. Of _course_ he had heard of it, he was supposed to be from around here.

"We take care not to damage anything," Lockwood added. "It's the tunnels and caverns underground we've been focusing on. We haven't been chipping away at the fortress walls or anything, despite what those heritage types might say. Time's done enough damage to this place."

"You know why it was abandoned?" The Doctor asked.

"No one really knows why, and when exactly, these old castles were deserted," Lockwood said. "I'd say this one belonged to some lord or noble who got himself killed and the peasants driven out. That's normally the case, isn't it?"

The Doctor did not reply. There was something about this place, a feeling it gave him, one that he could not entirely work out. It was starting to bother him, to nag away at his mind with increasing tenacity. There was a history here, that much was obvious, but it was not your typical Scottish history. He walked over to the nearby wall, where part of it had fallen away to reveal a further layer underneath. Reaching into a pocket on his jacket, he retrieved a small iron trowel and used it to chip away at some of the stone.

"What are you doing?" Lockwood asked. He stopped behind the 'Oxford Professor', narrowing his eyes.

"Did you ever think that this place was older than it looked?" The Doctor asked. He brushed the small pieces of stone that had collected upon the trowel, before placing it back into his pocket. He turned to Lockwood, one brow raised.

"What makes you say that?"

"Nothing, really." The Doctor was lying, naturally, but a man like Lockwood was not one to understand the 'feeling' he had. There was history here, but more so than Lockwood might have been thinking of. "You said you've been digging up some caverns?"

"Yes, we have."

"I'd like to take a look. I might be able to give you my, ah, _exper_ t opinion."

Lockwood took a moment to consider this. Doubt flashed on his features, and the Doctor figured that Lockwood still did not entirely believe his 'credentials'. The psychic paper was not completely reliable, and some people could resist it more so than others.

"It'd be an honour to show someone of your calibre what we've uncovered," Lockwood finally said, albeit in a voice that did not sound entirely sincere. The Doctor smiled at him.

"It's always nice to be recognized," he replied. "After you, _Captain_ Lockwood." He motioned towards the staircase ahead. Lockwood started past it and the Doctor fell into step, following the Captain down a set of stairs into the keep's large and musty cellar.

This room was certainly dismal, all grey and dark, with small grated openings near the ceiling that were overgrown with grass and dripping with water. A genuine dungeon, in every sense of the word. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and a thick layer of dust covered most surfaces. Lockwood went straight on through to a further doorway, which in turn lead down a set of stairs towards a small cavern of sorts. A rusted metal gate was down here, hanging open.

"That was locked when we found it," Lockwood commented, as they went through the gate. "Bolted shut. We cut it open, naturally."

"Naturally," the Doctor echoed. "You ever think that it was locked for a reason?"

Lockwood did not reply. The pair stepped out into a large cavern, the air filled with the smell of seawater. From somewhere nearby, they could hear water dripping, the noise echoing loudly through the expanse. A few workers milled by, their overalls covered with mud. Lockwood lead the way further down the cavern and through a short adjoining tunnel to where the main part of the dig was taking place. Here, all manner of equipment was scattered about and the focus of the work seemed to be upon one large alcove further ahead. Someone was on their knees before a wall, handling a large portable grinder that whirred loudly and scoured away the rock it came into contact with.

"My lead researcher, Ridgefield," Lockwood told the Doctor, as they approached. Ridgefield switched off the grinder and pulled up his ear protectors.

"Ridgefield," Lockwood said. "This is Professor Smith. He's from Oxford."

Ridgefield rose to his feet and put aside the grinder, handing it off to a worker standing nearby. Taking off his gloves, he held out a hand, one that the Doctor happily shook.

"He's an archaeologist," Lockwood said.

"Good to hear. I feel like sometimes I'm the only one around here who really knows anything about what we're doing." Ridgefield glanced over at Lockwood, who shot him a mean glance as he said this. "Of course, the Captain here knows a fair bit. He's no doctor or professor, but he's well-educated nonetheless."

The Doctor broke the handshake, his gaze being drawn towards the visibly metal wall before them. They had dug through the rock wall here, striking some kind of metal surface, complete with a visible door set into it. Briefly forgetting the two men standing nearby, the Doctor went straight to the door, pressing against it so that he could place an ear upon the cold, grey metal. Lockwood was about to say something but the Doctor put a finger to his lips, shushing him. For a moment, there was not a sound. The Doctor listened as best he could, but nothing came to him. No revealing sound that told him what they were faced with here. And the design could have been from a number of different species, not enough of it was visible to make a proper judgement.

Taking his head away, he traced his fingers along the metal. It was definitely an advanced alloy, but could it have been from somewhere other than Earth? No way to tell until he took some proper readings.

"This is our most recent discovery," Lockwood said.

"I can tell," the Doctor replied, keeping his eyes set on the metal door. "A bit out of place, isn't it?"

"Indeed." Lockwood walked up to him, no doubt intrigued to hear what he had discovered, or was at least in the process of discovering. "You certainly take a more hands-on approach, don't you?"

"It's the best approach," the Doctor said. "Unless you've got a vat of acid or some green primordial goo in front of you." He turned to Lockwood, giving him a toothy smile. "Don't touch either of those things, by the way."

Lockwood seemed confused, but the Doctor continued speaking. His mind began working in the overdrive it often fell into when faced with a mystery such as this.

"It's a door," the Doctor said abruptly.

"Yes, we figured as much." Ridgefield put a hand to his chin, regarding the Doctor and the door before him with a curious gaze. "No visible mechanism—"

"That's because it's only supposed to be opened from the inside." The Doctor put a hand to one part of the door, at about chest level.

"How can you possibly know that?" Ridgefield frowned, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. "And what good is a door that only opens from the inside?"

"A ship," the Doctor said. "To keep the vacuum out, obviously. You are a doctor, aren't you?" He glanced at Ridgefield, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Of course, that's just a guess, really. We haven't got a whole lot to go on, do we?"

"Hang on, Professor." Lockwood stepped up to the door. "Exactly what is this? Do you know what this is, beyond it being a 'door'?"

"Like I just said, we haven't much to go on." The Doctor traced his fingers along its edges. The door was almost perfectly flush with the rest of the wall. "You've been digging down here for how long, three years?"

"Off and on," Lockwood said. "Most of the work got done in the last six months. Before that we were having trouble with those heritage groups who didn't want us working down here."

"Right. And you've just found this door? And this _metal_ wall, underneath a _medieval_ fortress. What does that tell you?"

"It's an anachronism," Ridgefield said.

"Besides that." The Doctor remained looking at the wall, tracing every imperfection on its surface. It was old, that much was clear, and they were not even that deep underground. What struck him was their proximity to the sea. They were practically underwater at this point, and the fortress itself sat upon a cliff-face overlooking the rolling waves.

"Besides what?" Lockwood sounded like he was already tired of the Doctor. "Just who are you again, Professor? Because I don't know how you could possibly know any more than we do about this…this _door_. That's all it is, really."

"Why did you choose to dig here?" The Doctor spun around abruptly then, setting his eyes on Lockwood. "What brought you here, to Pickarn's Hill?"

Lockwood looked as if he had been taken momentarily off-guard, but he was quick to compose himself. He struck the Doctor as a man who liked to be in control. And it would appear that he was not too pleased that the Doctor was seemingly taking all this control away from him, after only having just arrived.

"There were legends about a secret chamber under the fortress," Lockwood replied. "Unfounded rumours, but the place itself had been mostly untouched for centuries. A perfect place to go digging, I might add."

"A perfect place?" The Doctor gestured to the sealed metal door with one hand. "I don't think I would say it's 'perfect'. This door is not from the eleventh century."

"Obviously."

"It could be an alien spacecraft," the Doctor said. "Buried under here for centuries. Forgotten over time. I think I may be able to open this door, but I don't know if I should." He contemplated the possibility for a moment. "Actually, I think it was a mistake for you to even excavate this place. Something like this might have been better off staying buried."

"So you know what it is?" Lockwood asked. His voice sounded eager then, and he no doubt wanted a solid answer. The Doctor slowly shook his head. He did not have a proper answer. It could have been anything, and he was still milling over whether it should be opened or not. It could have been nothing, maybe a dead alien ship with a dead crew and little else.

"You believe in aliens, Captain Lockwood?" The Doctor asked him.

"Just about everybody knows about aliens, Professor," Lockwood said. "You might even say I've had first-hand experience with them, as part of my many travels. Why? Could this really be an alien vessel?"

The Doctor reached into his pocket and retrieved his sonic screwdriver. One end glowed blue as he adjusted the settings, holding it close to the door as he cycled through those he thought might work best in this situation. The weapon made a whirring, chirruping sound as it worked, all while the Doctor frowned in concentration whilst he attempted to find the correct frequency. Finally, after some fiddling, there was an audible _clunk_ from within the door itself. Something began to grind, very slowly, as some inner mechanism finally gave way and after thousands of years of remaining still, began to move into action. Of course, it was never that easy. The Doctor might have been making a terrible mistake here, but even he could not resist the urge to see what lay behind the door. A mystery like this was too tantalising to pass up.

"What did you do?" Ridgefield asked.

"The mechanism within the door works on a time delay system," the Doctor replied.

"How can you possibly know that?"

The Doctor grinned at him.

"Just a feeling I have," he said. Putting away the sonic screwdriver, he turned around to face Lockwood, whose face carried a mix of annoyance and amusement. He would certainly be glad for the Doctor's help, even if the new arrival had taken the whole situation out from under him.

"I must say, Professor, you are a curious man," Lockwood said. "You sound so certain that it was aliens who put this here. And that device, what is it?"

"A sonic screwdriver."

"Indeed. I could do with one of those myself, if it makes opening ancient doors _that_ easy." Lockwood looked past the Doctor at the door, seemingly disappointed it had not slid open. "Of course, that's if it even worked. Nothing's really happening, is it?"

"Like I said, _time delay_. Whoever built this place didn't want it to swing open right away. It could be hours before it finally opens up."

At one side of the door, a line of narrow green lights had appeared, seemingly set into the metal. As the seconds ticked by, the ends began to slowly diminish. Some kind of visible timer, the Doctor surmised, and it was very slowly wearing down.

"Better than nothing, I suppose," Lockwood said. "I must say, Professor, the way in which you came in here and solved this problem within the space of a few minutes makes you a very good candidate to join this excavation. I'm still uncertain as to how you could know so much about _alien_ doors."

The Doctor shrugged.

"First-hand experience," he said. "All you have to do now is wait. You know, it's very likely there's nothing inside. A dead ship, with a lot of long dead aliens, but little else. This whole thing could be for nothing."

"In that case, if the bodies are preserved then there is something to be gained. If some of the technology is still working, then again there's something to be gained. The last thing this excavation has been is for nothing." Lockwood scratched at his moustache with one finger, a thoughtful look crossing his features. "I would like to speak with you, Professor, in more relaxed circumstances. I have a house, not too far from here. Perhaps this evening you and I could share a drink or two? There are some things I'd like to discuss with you, and in the meantime Ridgefield and his team can keep an eye on this door and let us know when it opens."

The Doctor considered the offer. Lockwood's more insensitive streak had revealed itself in brief flashes here and here, but otherwise the man kept up his amiable attitude most of the time. Besides, the Doctor wanted to know more about him and it was likely much the same way for Lockwood, when faced with the Doctor. There were some things about this place that the Doctor wanted to investigate, and it was not just the door and what lay behind it. Finding out what he could from Lockwood seemed the best method for now, while they all waited for the ancient door's time delay mechanism to finally expire. Is this what had brought the TARDIS here? It cannot have been a coincidence.

"Say, seven o'clock tonight?" Lockwood said. "I've got some errands to run before then, so I must be leaving. One of my guards here can direct you to my home. Is that all right with you, Professor? After what you've done, you certainly deserve to be made an honoured guest."

The Doctor nodded slowly. Despite his uncertainties, it was probably best to play along.

"Excellent. I'll have my cook prepare something special for the occasion, and I'll even show you around my collection."

"Your collection?" The Doctor's curiosity piqued.

"Yes, Professor. I am a traveller, hunter and collector, as well as amateur archaeologist. I've been all over the world, and I've brought back many souvenirs of my travels. I think that a man such as yourself would be most fascinated by what I have on display." Lockwood took a glance at the watch on his left wrist. "I should get going. Things to do, people to see. Good day, Professor." He tiled his helmet slightly before turning to Ridgefield. "And you, Ridgefield, I want someone posted here at all times. As soon as that door opens, call me, I don't care what time it is when it happens."

Lockwood turned around and walked away then. The Doctor watched him leave, his overall opinion of the man a mixed one. He turned to Ridgefield, who had started to brush some of the dirt and dust off of his clothing.

"How long have you known him?" The Doctor asked Ridgefield.

"Last few years," Ridgefield said. "He runs a tight ship, but he knows what he's doing and he pays pretty well. An independent in every sense of the word. It's good to have money, wouldn't you say?"

"Money isn't everything."

"Perhaps. But that's what's kept Lockwood going all this time, funded his travels and this very dig. He was lucky, being born into wealth like he was. My parents had very little and my father worked all day to put food on the table. I don't think the Captain's done a true hard day's work in his life."

The Doctor gave it some thought. Lockwood seemed like the aristocratic sort, which struck him as almost outdated in the year 2027. Either that, or he was simply doing his best at pretending to be some old-fashioned noble.

"What do you think is really behind there?" Ridgefield asked suddenly, nodding towards the door. The Doctor did not reply straight away. His mind had wandered, as it so often did, and it took a moment for the sound of Ridgefield's voice to bring it back into reality.

"Behind there?" The Doctor shook his head. "I don't know. It's a mystery, isn't it? And I do love myself a bit of mystery. Don't you?"

"I'm an archaeologist," Ridgefield said. "I prefer to deal in facts and solid objects. I don't think I could believe we've got some alien ship here unless I saw actual proof of that. Little green men aren't going to come running out of there, are they?"

The Doctor smiled at him when he said this.

"They shouldn't," he replied. Ridgefield gave him a funny look, and his uncertainty was clear. "Of course, if they do, you might have to run away. Keep that in mind when it finally opens, Mister Ridgefield."

"I'm a doctor," Ridgefield corrected.

"So am I, in a way."

"From Oxford, no less?"

The Doctor did not reply. He began to walk away, leaving Ridgefield to his own devices. As he moved, he contemplated what could be waiting for them inside that sealed chamber, and part of him was already telling him opening it had been a mistake. It would not be the first time he had made such a mistake, and it was always from the mistakes one made that the best lessons were learned. Besides, had he not opened it, Lockwood might have tried blowing it open and the damage caused from that kind of activity might have been serious. It was safer this way, and more guaranteed to provide answers, rather than more questions. 

* * *

Lockwood made his way to his car, where it was parked a short distance beyond the walls of the fortress. Ronaldson stood waiting for him and, as always, opened the door for him as he approached. Lockwood sat down in the back seat of the luxury black four-door, and from inside he pulled off the cordless phone sitting in a holder in the back of the seat ahead of him. When one had money, they could afford such additions, even if they were not entirely necessary. While Ronaldson closed the doors and proceeded to start the car, Lockwood dialled the number of a friend of his, putting the phone to his ear as it rang. The person at the other end picked up after a few rings, and Lockwood spoke immediately.

"Hello, Henry, it's Lockwood," he said. "I've got a background check I'd like you to run. A fellow by the name of Smith, John Smith." The reply he got to this made him chuckle. "Yes, yes, I know. What gall you'd need to call yourself _that_ , of all things. He said he was from Oxford, an archaeology professor, but I think he's nothing more than a clever liar. A helpful one, but a clever one." There was a pause. Lockwood listened carefully, and nodded, despite the fact that the man on the other end of the line could not see him. "I can get you a photo, that's no issue. Try and get back to me as soon as you can, since I'm planning to meet him this evening and I'd like to know if he's some kind of psychopath or not. Much appreciated, Henry. You can reach me on my usual number."

With that, Lockwood ended the call and put the phone away. By now Ronaldson had taken the car to the gate, where a guard pressed a button and it slid open. The afternoon light above was dim, the sky its usual grey, and the first rainfall had started. A slight patter, not much more. Another typical day in Scotland, at the height of autumn. Even so, Lockwood had always found it a pleasant place. There was something about the moors, the rolling hills and the old ruins that seemed so tranquil, enough to relax an old man like him. It was part of the reason he had bought a house in the region, and he intended to live here until the day he died.

As for Professor Smith, Lockwood would find out who he really was. No ordinary archaeologist would have been able to open that door and no ordinary archaeologist carried a device like the one the Professor had used. There was certainly more to him, much more than what he was letting on. In situations like these, it was always good to have friends in high places.


	5. The Stranger

**The Stranger**

How long had it been? Spartus had since lost track of time in this place. It was sometimes difficult, when one was locked in a basement, to keep up with just how many days went by. Especially as the only source of sunlight was a small slit of a window up near the ceiling at one wall, a window that was mostly shrouded by the grass outside.

Of course, it was not always like this. Sometimes he _did_ get the opportunity to go out, and usually when he did it was to carry out some kind of menial task that involved a good degree of manual labour. So, he remained alone in the dusty cellar, seated in his own private corner and a bucket nearby that served as his personal toilet. It was during these hours alone that he spent thinking, and it was all he did sometimes, as the only company he had was that of himself.

There was something a human had said to him once, some time ago (yet even the idea of time had become strange since his arrival here). _Take away a man's light, his food, his friends, his air and you leave him with nothing but himself. And for most, that is not good company._

What mistake had he made to end up here? What had he done to deserve this? That was a foolish question, he realised, for he had done plenty in his past that many would deem as morally ambiguous, at the very least. And for his many hours spent in this dungeon (as it was more like one of those, than the cellar it was purported to be) he had had the opportunity to play through every memory of every bad thing he had done during his life, over and over again, and over and over again he was reminded that he was not a good person. He had killed and stolen, and he had betrayed former friends, people who had trusted him. In his line of work, one could only trust themselves, and he had lived by that belief for many years. It had kept him sharp, kept him smart and most importantly, it had kept him _alive_. It had kept him alive enough to wind up here, nothing more than a glorified slave. All he had with him were his trousers and boots, the scaly flesh of his bare chest and arms gleaming in the dim light. His orange eyes stood out starkly in the darkness, and with his night vision he could make out everything around him better than any human could.

He heard the door at the far end open, and down a set of stairs came the man who had been responsible for so much of his most recent pain. In one hand he clutched the small remote that Spartus had since learned to associate with pain, and the human strode confidently down the stairs before stopping a short distance ahead.

"We're having a guest over," Lockwood said. Spartus looked towards him, watching him, but did not speak. He did not wish to give him that satisfaction. "I want you to be on your best behaviour. I'd rather like to impress this guest when he arrives, and I wouldn't want to hide away the best part of my collection."

"I'll kill you," Spartus muttered. Lockwood smiled, but said nothing as he stepped forwards.

"You'll what now, sport?" Lockwood carried himself like a man who knew he had the power of life and death over Spartus. And the fact was, he did indeed have that power, and remembering this fact always left Spartus angry and frustrated. "You'll kill me? Tell me, how many times have you said that, without taking any action? If you killed me, dear boy, you'd be lost. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself." He stepped forwards, and pulled a key from one pocket that he used to release Spartus from his shackles. "Now, you know the drill, Scales. Go and clean up, get the oven started, that sort of thing."

With his free hands, Spartus considered grabbing him then and there. As if reading his mind, Lockwood pressed a button on the remote and immediately Spartus felt a blinding, searing pain shoot through his skull. It caused him to keel over, falling to his knees, as pain wracked his very being and shut out the rest of the world around him. Groaning, he was freed from it within seconds, and he found himself lying on one side with Lockwood standing over him.

"Now get up," Lockwood ordered. "There's work to be done."

* * *

As expected, Lockwood's house was large and grand, almost obnoxiously so. Situated at the crest of the hill, with moorland and more hills going on for as far as the eye could see, the house was about three floors total with ornate décor and a tall perimeter fence around it held up by brick columns. It was an old house, likely dating back from the nineteenth century, with many windows and a few balconies from the upper floors that overlooked the surrounding region. The Doctor found himself standing outside at the main gate, deposited by a taxi that one of Lockwood's people had arranged for him. There were no guards visible outside, and the gate itself was closed, keeping out any would-be trespassers. An intercom was set by the gate, so the Doctor, seeing no other choice, pressed the button upon it and peered into the camera lens above it.

"Hello?" He said. Around him, the day had started to darken into evening. A light drizzle of rain had started to fall, likely preceding something far heavier. "Hello? Anyone there? It's chilly out here."

A voice, one he did not recognize, filtered through the intercom's speakers then.

" _You're that Professor, aren't you?"_

"Yes." The Doctor could feel someone watching him through the camera. He returned the favour, leaning forwards and looking straight into the lens. "Captain Lockwood invited me over for dinner. Unless I have the wrong address?"

 _"No, you're in the right place. Please, come in. Make your way into the lobby through the front entrance. Someone will be with you shortly."_

"Thank you." The Doctor did not feel entirely comfortable coming here. There was something about Lockwood he could not entirely work out. To choose a dig site at that old fortress, of all places, and to stumble across some kind of alien door seemed all too convenient. Still, things like that did happen, often through simple chance. The Doctor was not unfamiliar with coincidences, even if he did not entirely believe them himself.

The gate started to slide open, squeaking on its mechanism. He ducked through once there was a wide enough gap, stepping onto the cobblestone drive-way beyond. A black four-door sedan was parked outside the front of the house, presumably belonging to Lockwood. The Doctor made his way past it and under a shelter that hung over the front entrance. The doors ahead were unlocked, and so he pushed his way through them, stepping into a large and ornately decorated entrance lobby. The room was large, with corridors branching off at either side and a set of stairs further ahead. Flower pots and framed paintings were at the walls, including one large portrait of Lockwood's head and shoulders, the man clad in a Navy uniform, a stern but thoughtful look on his face as his eyes stared out at the viewer. The Doctor stopped before the portrait, taking note of the way the painter had successfully captured the mean glint that Lockwood's eyes had in reality.

Someone stepped into the room then, from the corridor on the right. A tall man who looked to be in his thirties, dressed in a blue suit and tie.

"Professor Smith?" The man asked. The Doctor swivelled around to face him, smiling in greeting. "I'm Clive Ronaldson. I'm an assistant to Captain Lockwood."

"Tell me, Clive." The Doctor stepped forwards and shook hands with the somewhat anxious looking man. "Is your friend Lockwood really a 'Captain'? Or did he simply give himself that title out of boredom?"

"Captain Lockwood was in the Royal Navy for a time, when he was younger," Ronaldson said. "He had a very successful career and developed a taste for world travel. Why?"

"Just curious," the Doctor replied. He let the man's hand go and looked about the wood-panelled walls, with the expensive dark red carpet underfoot and the framed paintings spaced along the walls. "Your Captain Lockwood must have a fair bit of wealth."

"Much of it was made from his travels," Ronaldson said. "Finding and selling artefacts, investing in certain business and so forth. The Captain is a shrewd man with a sharp financial mind."

"I can imagine."

There was a pause. The Doctor eyed Ronaldson carefully, noticing that the man seemed to carry himself awkwardly. Was he neurotic? Insecure? Perhaps. And he was probably the best sort of man for Lockwood to hire, as he could boss Ronaldson around as much as he wanted and the man would likely come back for more. Lockwood liked to have power and control, this much the Doctor had gathered, and he liked to show off what power and control he had to others. He also enjoyed flaunting his wealth too, if the inside of this house was anything to go by.

"Is the Captain about?" The Doctor asked.

"He's waiting in the main gallery."

"Gallery?"

"It's what he calls the dining hall. A collection of some of the more exotic items is with it, allowing visitors to see what his many travels have granted him."

"So he likes to show off, does he?" The Doctor grinned, but Ronaldson only shifted uneasily where he stood. "I mean, why wouldn't he? He's a rich, successful man. Of course he likes to show off."

"I'll take you there now, Professor."

"Please."

Ronaldson turned around and started up the stairs ahead. The Doctor followed, and Ronaldson took him to the next floor and down a short corridor before rounding a corner. Through a set of double doors, they stepped into this 'main gallery'. It was a large room, with display cases along the walls, and a dining table through an open doorway further ahead. Some of the things in the display cases were what one might expect from a 'collector' and 'archaeologist': priceless artefacts from a variety of places, complete with photographs of Lockwood posing in front of all manner of landmarks and outside old tombs in the likes of Cambodia and Egypt. However, there were other items here that stood out more so than others. Lockwood might have made himself out to be an archaeologist of sorts, but there was more to it from the look of it. A 'collector' he certainly was, but not just of antiquities.

The petrified head of a Pyrovile stared back at the Doctor from one of the cases. Ancient and ashen, its empty eye sockets gazed blankly ahead and the Doctor felt the entire mood change as he saw this old foe. There was a framed photo of Lockwood standing in the ruins of Pompeii, presumably where he had unearthed what looked, by all accounts, to be an oversized ancient Roman helmet.

And in a case over, there was the head of something else that the Doctor had not expected to see again, at least in this form. Handles protruded from the side of its head, which in turn was encased in a soft pale cloth. A light was set upon its crown, and wires hung loosely from the base of its neck where it had once been connected to a bulky and elaborate cybernetic body. The eye sockets were black and empty, but the Doctor knew that a pair of very human eyes had once been there.

"I found that one in the Antarctic," a familiar voice said from behind him. The Doctor swivelled around, finding Lockwood walking towards him, stepping through the doorway into the gallery. "Curious, isn't it? And it wasn't the only one of its kind, either."

"And I thought you were an amateur archaeologist," the Doctor said.

"I'm a collector. I find things that interest me, and I keep them. That specimen right there was of _grea_ t interest to me, I can assure you." He motioned towards he dining table in the next room ahead. "Please, Professor. My cooks will be done preparing the appetisers shortly."

"Great," the Doctor said, for lack of anything better. "I'm absolutely famished."

The Doctor stepped through to the dining room, before taking a seat at one side of the table. Lockwood sat down a few seats away, at the head of the table, and seconds later a young man in waiter's garb walked in with a tray in one hand that he set upon it.

"Shrimp cocktail with three sauces," Lockwood said. The waiter set a plate in front of the Doctor, with a small helping of shrimp and three different dipping sauces. "I rather like shrimp, or prawns, whatever name works for you. How about you, Professor?"

"I'm a bit divided on seafood," the Doctor said. Despite the company and his uncertainties regarding Lockwood, he was not one to pass up a free meal. This was certainly a step up from what he was used to. "Still, I'm always one to try different things."

"An open mind is a good thing, in most regards," Lockwood replied. He bit into a piece of shrimp then, wiping his beard off with a white cloth. "Especially in my line of work. You need to know where to look, and go places most wouldn't, to reap the most rewards. I'm reminded of that time I was in the southern Amazon…"

"Do you sell anything you find?" The Doctor interrupted, before the Captain could go on any further. He picked at the shrimp, his mind not entirely on the food.

"Some of it is sold," Lockwood replied. "Some of it I keep and add to my collection."

"Of course you sell it," the Doctor added. "What well-respecting collector wouldn't try and make a bit of money?"

Lockwood narrowed his eyes. "You don't sound too impressed, Doctor."

"I can't say that I am. Impressed, that is."

Lockwood shifted in his seat but otherwise his expression did not change. A man like him might have been insulted if his honoured guest was not 'impressed' by his home. Of course, if he was offended in any way, he did not show it.

"What drew you to the fortress?" The Doctor asked.

"I thought I explained…"

"No, no, not the 'official' story. Not the 'rehearsed' one." The Doctor leaned forwards, narrowing his eyes towards Captain Lockwood. "I want the truth, Lockwood. I'm betting there's a real reason why you chose that site, out of all the places you could dig up. No one cared much for the ruined fortress on the cliff. I'm guessing even the locals stayed away from that place."

"I don't understand the meaning of this, Doctor." Lockwood sounded flustered then. Maybe the Doctor was coming on too strong, he often did, but there were things about the whole situation that bothered him. Lockwood was one of them. How could he trust a man like him, who flaunted his wealth and collected potentially dangerous items for a living?

"It was an untouched site," Lockwood said. "I wanted to be the first to discover is secrets."

"And what secrets would those be, Captain?"

Lockwood paused, thinking it over.

"You've seen the door, Professor," Lockwood finally said. "An unexpected discovery, but a welcome one. Perhaps the means of reaching the very 'treasure' rumoured to be there." Lockwood took another shrimp into his mouth, his teeth crunching into it loudly. "Exactly what are you trying to achieve, with this sudden interrogation of yours, Professor?"

"I want to clear some things up," the Doctor answered. "That's all. I need to find out as much as I can, if I'm going to be any help."

"But you've already been a great help," Lockwood said. He sounded pleased, and the smile he gave said as much. "That door underground is opening because of you. It likely would have been months before we would have found a way to open it if you hadn't have come along. And the knowledge you displayed down in the cavern. You suggested things that not even I would have suspected."

"Only the obvious."

"Obvious to _you_ , maybe. Not many archaeologists would have suggested 'aliens' as a possibility."

"Yet you have alien parts in your collection."

Lockwood gave a sort of half-shrug.

"The thought did cross my mind," he said. "But aliens, so deep underground? It must be centuries old."

"Older." The Doctor spoke abruptly and seriously. In the hours since he had met Lockwood and set the door's time delay lock to open, he had thought a great deal about that cavern and what might have been behind the door. A lot of possibilities had played out in his mind, some of them unpleasant. Still, he wanted to know what was behind it, just as badly as Captain Lockwood wanted.

"However old it is, it could be the discovery of the decade. Archaeology is gradually dying out. You could almost say we're running out of old things to dig up. But what's under that fortress could change that. Finding an alien ship down there, why it could change the entire world." Lockwood's voice took on a somewhat more excited tone and his blue eyes brightened with energy. The man's true ambitions were leaking through his generally amiable exterior and the Doctor watched this all with a careful gaze, making mental notes for himself as he did so. Lockwood could be a potentially dangerous man, if given the right opportunities to be as such.

"You're not eating your shrimp, Professor." Lockwood eyed him curiously.

The Doctor bit into one of the shrimp, and was surprised at how good it tasted. Even so, he did not feel entirely comfortable eating with Lockwood. His misgivings about the man were enough to override the taste of the food. Maybe he had made a mistake with the door, still this was the kind of opportunity he could not pass up. There could be something down there they could learn a lot from. Or there could be nothing more than a dead ship. There was only one way to find out for certain, after all.

"There could be specimens in that underground chamber," Lockwood said. "Imagine what we could learn if we found live aliens? Dead or alive, we could learn so much."

"You're an amateur xeno-biologist now, I take it?"

Lockwood smiled and shook his head.

"Oh no, Professor. I have people like that working for me, but I am still a simple collector. I did recently patent one of my findings. I think a man like yourself would be curious to hear about it."

"Patent? What did you patent, exactly?"

"We came across a pair of live alien specimens some months ago," Lockwood explained. "What we learned from them was enough to enable us to isolate a specific enzyme capable of speeding up tissue regeneration. It's the sort of thing that could help humanity immeasurably."

The Doctor was intrigued, but he retained a level gaze. Apparently Lockwood was a man of many trades, with the money and influence to get him the people he needed to essentially do what he wanted, where he wanted. A man like that could be very dangerous indeed.

"And you'll be profiting from this, I take it?" The Doctor already knew the answer. That was what patents were usually for.

"I feel that I should reap some reward from my discoveries," Lockwood said. "And as fate would have it, we found two of the specimens. One unfortunately perished, but it was from this one that we were able to isolate the enzyme. It's still in the developing stages now, but progress is moving along well, from what I've been told."

The Doctor leaned forwards slightly, narrowing his eyes. He needed to know more about this.

"What 'specimens'?" He asked. "Can I see them?"

"I could show you the surviving one," Lockwood said. "He's right here, in this very house. He even works for me."

The Doctor did not like the sound of this but said nothing. Lockwood rose from his seat and walked over to the door behind him. Near it was an intercom panel, and here he pressed a button and spoke into the receiver.

"Yes, Ronaldson, could you send in Scales? Our guest would like to meet him." Lockwood flicked off the channel then, before turning around to face the Doctor again.

"Scales?"

"It's our name for him," Lockwood said with a smile. "He hasn't told us his actual name, but I presume it's something weird and hard to pronounce."

"Did you ask him?"

"What do you think I did when I met him?" Lockwood shook his head slowly. "You must think me thick, Professor."

The Doctor did not say anything. He put his hands out in front of him, tapping his fingers together as he waited for 'Scales' to appear. It took a few minutes, before the door ahead swung open and a very obvious extra-terrestrial walked inside.

This one was tall, well over six-and-a-half feet. Covered in blue, scaly skin, with ridges along the hairless scalp, this particular alien was bare from the waist up. The scales on his well-toned frame caught the light well, giving him an almost shiny quality. A pair of dirty grey trousers and worn heavy boots were all that he wore, and he bared visible marks; scratches and bruises, mainly, marring his form in places. His eyes, orange and piercing, looked around carefully in the way an experienced soldier might, as if he were scanning for potential enemies. His gaze settled on the Doctor, but his expression remained an almost unreadable mask. Whatever he was feeling, he was doing a very good job of hiding it.

"You found this one?" The Doctor asked. He rose to his feet, seeing the bruises and scrapes right away.

"We found him out on the moors several months ago, after we detected a large energy spike." Lockwood sounded almost proud of this discovery. "We got to him before any of the authorities did. He's been with us ever since."

"Doing what?" The Doctor approached the alien, giving him a warm smile as he did so. "Lockwood said you worked for him?" He directed the question to the alien, but Lockwood was quick to step in front of him and speak for him.

"He has a job with me," Lockwood said. "He earns his keep, like everyone else. I wasn't about to stick him in a display case, was I now?" A rhetorical question, but the Doctor figured he would not be too surprised if Lockwood had seriously considered doing this at some point. "They heal faster than us humans do. Not too much faster, mind you, but certainly fast enough to make a difference. Hence the enzyme that will be undergoing clinical trials within the next few years. I'm doing my bit for humanity, Professor. As we all should."

"Yes, that sounds just wonderful." The Doctor was far from convinced. "But I would like to speak to 'Scales' here, _alone_. If that's no trouble?"

"I'd rather not leave my prize discovery alone, if you don't mind," Lockwood countered.

"Why? Are you afraid he'll tell me something bad about you?" The Doctor could already see that there was much more to this than what Lockwood was letting on. Something he had come to expect with the man now. He turned to Scales, who had remained silent all throughout the conversation.

"What do you do around here?" The Doctor asked.

There was no answer right away. Instead, Scales seemed to carefully consider his response, glancing over at Lockwood who was watching him with stern eyes. Then he turned back to the Doctor, and for a moment it looked as if he were about to speak. However, he seemed to reconsider, and again he glanced over at Lockwood.  
"Pretend he isn't there," the Doctor said. "Then answer the question. Better yet, answer this one: if there were two of you to begin with, what happened to the other one?"

The alien's eyes lit up then, and it was with the unmistakable light of fury. However, it was gone as quickly as it had come, and the alien seemed to stumble backwards in pain. A hand went to his head and he scrunched up his eyes, as if he had been struck with a sudden and agonising migraine. Lockwood put an arm around him, helping to steady him. His other hand was in a pocket at his waist, something that the Doctor took careful note of. Now was not the time to mention it, not until he found out more about Scales and why he was here.

"The other one died of wounds he had when we found him," Lockwood said.

"You found him out on the moors?" This was another thing the Doctor did not entirely believe.

"Five months ago now," Lockwood replied. "Some sort of teleportation had occurred and they were both dazed. We brought them in, did what we could for the wounded one, but in the end our knowledge of their physiology was minimal and the wounded one perished, I'm afraid." Lockwood sounded almost remorseful – almost. The Doctor could see right away that he did not really care. Exactly what kind of man had the Doctor assisted? Had he opened the door into a world-changing discovery for a callous, greedy man? Or was Lockwood simply this way because of what he did for a living?

"Get back to work, Scales," Lockwood said. The alien took one last, extended look at the Doctor. His expression did not change, but there was a look in his orange eyes. Could it be curiosity? Or something else? Finally, he turned around and left the room, striding off down the corridor before disappearing from view.

"Why is he hurt?" The Doctor asked, looking towards Lockwood.

"Hurt? Why, Professor, it's the work he does. A lot of heavy lifting, and so there's a few scuffs and scrapes but nothing serious. He's stronger than any human I know, so he's well-suited to carrying things around. And he has a place here."

"A place?"

"A place to call home. Instead of being in some government laboratory, he can live here, have a proper home with a proper job and earn his keep like any ordinary human being. I keep him out of the public eye, and from the prying eyes of the authorities. You'd be surprised by how many shady groups exist, Professor. They'd kill to get their hands on something like him."

"So you keep him for yourself?" The Doctor's tone soured. He could not prevent his distaste from seeping into his voice. "Like a pet. That's what he is to you, isn't it? Nothing more than a glorified dog. Another way to show off your wealth and power?"

"Why, Professor, I don't know where this has come from…"

"It's come from the uncomfortable realisation I've had that helping you may have been a mistake."

"A mistake?"

"A horrible mistake," the Doctor added. "I know now, Lockwood, that you and I can never get along. As for what's under that fortress, I want to know as much as you do. But this dinner, the two of us, all happy and chatty?" He shook his head. "It's over."

Lockwood looked surprised, but he was quick to compose himself.

"Well, Professor, I'm sorry you feel that way."

"I'm not." The Doctor looked down the hall ahead. Where had Scales gone? Exactly what kind of work did he do? So many questions, so little time. And his time here, now, had just about run out. Lockwood was a prideful man, this much was obvious, and the more he slated him, the more likely Lockwood was going to have him thrown out.

"You're practically keeping a sentient life-form as a pet," the Doctor said. "I can't condone that, and I can certainly never be friends with someone who does."

"He's a willing employee…" Lockwood's voice began to take on a sterner edge. He was gradually losing his cool, no doubt aghast that a man he had only just met had the gall to question the way he did things in his own home, and at dinner no less.

"I don't believe that for a second," the Doctor interrupted. He pointed an accusatory finger at the man. "In fact, a don't think I believe much of what you say altogether. I've met people like you before. And those meetings have never ended well."

Lockwood clenched his jaw, as if abruptly shutting off an explosion of anger. His eyes visibly widened, however, and when he spoke his building rage was apparent.

"How dare you, Professor," Lockwood said. He stepped forwards, closing the distance between them quickly, such that they were now practically face-to-face. _"How dare you._ I allow you into this house, as an honoured guest, and you do nothing but question the very way in which I carry out my business. _My_ business. I have been doing what I'm doing for many years. I have travelled the world and faced dangers you could only imagine. And you act as if my desire for some sort of reward, for when I put my life in jeopardy in the name of discovery, is a bad thing?"

"Like I said, Captain, I don't think I can believe you." The Doctor kept his voice level. He had no need to get angry. The fact that he had riled up Lockwood enough told him what he needed to know. For all the man's confidence, he did not like it when people stood up to him. Almost like a typical schoolyard bully.

"It's not a question of believing me, Professor." Lockwood's voice eased a little, as the anger faded somewhat. "It's a question of your utterly rude conduct so far. I welcomed you into the dig site, and you provide immeasurable help, only to turn around because you don't agree with everything I do. It wouldn't be so insulting if you were not a guest here, one I invited into _my_ home to eat food made by _my_ cook and allowed to view _my_ collection. I would expect better from an Oxford Professor, if that is what you really are."

The Doctor had figured Lockwood to be sharper than most. It was no surprise to him then, that Lockwood was not convinced by his 'disguise'.

"Regardless of who you think I am, Captain Lockwood, I think you might still want my assistance," the Doctor countered. "I think you know you _need_ my help. There's only so much Ridgefield and the others can do for you. No, you need my help, if you're ever going to unlock the secrets of that chamber. And I'm already beginning to regret opening it."

"Whatever discoveries are to be made in there, Professor, you and I can share credit." Lockwood once again proved himself more concerned about the money and fame than anything else. The Doctor rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he did so.

"That doesn't concern me," he said. "But I'll take it as confirmation that you want my help. And I will help you, but only because what may be in that chamber could be of some benefit. I'm about split on whether it could be a positive thing or not. One can never be too sure about buried, ancient rooms."

There was a lengthy pause between the two. Lockwood seemed to consider what had been said, a thoughtful look crossing his face. Even so, the Doctor had a feeling that he may have outstayed his welcome.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, at the dig site," he said to Lockwood. "And thanks for the shrimp. They were surprisingly tasty." He paused, while gauging Lockwood's reaction.

"Yes, I think it best you leave now, Professor," the old explorer said. "I'll have someone show you out. And I'm pleased to hear you liked the shrimp. Shame we couldn't move on to the main and dessert, isn't it?"

"I'll be fine without those," the Doctor replied. "I'm trying to watch my figure. Before you do anything more, I'll show myself out. I know the way. And I get the feeling you'll be watching me the whole time anyway."

The Doctor turned around and started out of the dining room, passing through the main gallery and into the hallway beyond. Lockwood was left in the dining room, mulling over what had just occurred, and all the more certain that the Doctor was not who he said he was.


	6. Old Friends

**Old Friends**

It was dark by the time the Doctor got to town. The streets were empty and only a few scattered lights here and there provided any real illumination. The only part of town that seemed active to any extent was the local tavern, although at this time the Doctor had no desire to pay it a visit. He was headed back to the TARDIS, still parked out on the nearby plain. Walking through the narrow winding streets with a chilly air bracketing him, the Doctor once again had plenty of time to think and none of it was about anything good.

Lockwood was a dangerous man. This much was clear to him now. Someone like him, with power and money and plenty of hired help, could do a lot of damage if they wanted to. And the dig site, deep under the old fortress, was one mystery the Doctor already regretted helping the man solve. Still, it was not all bad. He would solve the mystery of that old chamber, and had Lockwood not been around he would have felt better doing it.

Walking through the empty street, the Doctor rounded a corner. There was a narrow lane to his right, and from here he noticed a parked black sedan. As soon as he crossed the lane, its headlights came on and the engine started. Gradually, it started to move forwards, its engine growling in a subdued manner as its driver aimed to match its speed with the Doctor's pace. Right away he could tell that whoever was driving it was aiming for him, and years of travelling through dangerous places had given him just the right amount of paranoia to know when he was being followed and when he was in serious trouble. Picking up his pace, the Doctor stepped out onto the main street. The car tailed him, rounding the corner slowly. The windows were tinted black, ensuring that the occupants were invisible to anyone outside the car. It began to increase its pace as the Doctor did with his, until it was mere metres away, its bright headlights practically a set of large, monstrous eyes in the night and the front grill gleaming silvery in the light.

The Doctor came to the edge of the road, near the wall which separated the street from the grassy, muddy plain on the other side. There was no way through it for some distance, and by now the car was almost right on top of him. It came to a halt a few metres away, and the Doctor turned to face it, standing his ground as the side doors opened and a pair of burly men in suits emerged. Government types, this much was evident as soon as he looked at them. The two of them approached him, and the Doctor figured that the chase, however brief, was over. Whoever these people were, he might learn something if he simply played along.

"All right, I surrender." He raised his hands. "Now, take me to your leader. That is what you're going to do, isn't it?"

* * *

The ride with the government types was silent and awkward. The Doctor found himself seated at the back of the car, with the government types on either side. Another one drove the vehicle, and all three were dressed in the same black suits. They even had the same kind of haircuts, crew-cuts mainly, and none of them spoke a word as they drove the Doctor out of town some way before coming to a halt on a narrow, winding road. The car had come to the top of a short hill here, one where a fairly rundown looking inn was located, the sort of place that had not seen any real use for some time. Judging from the few cars parked outside, it appeared that the place had once again become the hub for some kind of activity, presumably for whatever shady organization the Doctor's abductors were working for.

"I have to say, this isn't the first time I've been abducted," the Doctor said. None of the three agents paid him any notice. "You're going to have to try a bit harder, if you want to make me nervous. The whole dodgy-black-car routine with the tinted windows is a bit nineteen-sixties, don't you think?" No one said a word to him. The driver trundled the car to a stop outside the old inn and the two sitting either side of him opened their doors and climbed out. They stood just outside the car, no doubt waiting for him to emerge. Slowly, he moved out of the car and stood in the gravel lot just outside the old inn. The building itself looked particularly ominous in the dark, with visibly cracked walls, flaking paint and overgrown creepers that had worked their way across most surfaces. A light was on at one window at the far end of the building, to the Doctor's right. It was not entirely lifeless, after all, but it certainly looked the part.

"This place could do with a makeover," the Doctor said. There was a statue of a ram's head over the front door, a neat touch he surmised, even if it did add to the overall ominous look of the place. "When was the last time this place got a coat of paint?"

"Come with me, Doctor." One of the agent types, the one who had been driving the car, finally spoke. He started for the front door and the Doctor, with little other option, walked after him. The agent pulled open the door and the pair went inside, entering a dimly lit narrow corridor that ran the length of the building. A television was on somewhere, its sounds coming through the walls muffled. Elsewhere, he could hear voices filtering down from upstairs. The whole place seemed very quaint and cosy, despite the visible wear and tear. Parts of the wallpaper were flaking, and the carpeted floor was dirty and faded in places.

The agent moved ahead, before rounding a doorway and entering into a room on the right. The Doctor followed him, going into what might have been a living area before the latest occupants had changed things up. Now it was an operations centre, complete with radio equipment at one table presided over by a young technician in a black uniform who had his back turned to the Doctor. His head was down as he wrote whatever messages he was receiving upon the paper in front of him. There was a map of the region on the wall to the left, and in front of that a desk that was occupied by an authoritative woman in a similar black uniform. Another desk was nearby, but this one was unoccupied. Standing at the other side of the room, looking through the shutters on one of the windows was a young woman whom the Doctor recognized immediately.

"Abigail," he said, causing her to turn around. She smiled at him. She was still dressed in the same outfit she had been when he had met her on the bus. "I take it you're not really a journalist, are you?"

She shook her head.

"That's just a cover, Doctor," she replied.

"Necessary for this line of work." The other woman, the somewhat older one in the military uniform, spoke at that point. She rose from her chair as the Doctor turned to face her. She saluted him, a surprisingly laid back salute, yet her face remained stern. "Captain Stacy Proctor. And you're the Doctor."

"What is this, exactly?" The Doctor looked about the room. A command post of sorts, probably hastily put together and only lightly staffed. "You're from UNIT, aren't you?"

"Astute as always, Doctor." Proctor dropped the salute and gave a light smile. "Abigail there is one of our field operatives. Of course, you're probably well aware that her attempt to infiltrate Edmund Lockwood's excavation site was unsuccessful. Yours, on the other hand, went off without a hitch, from what I've been told."

"What brings UNIT to old Scotland, anyway?" The Doctor asked. He figured he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Proctor regardless. "Surely the excavation isn't that big of a deal?"

"It shouldn't be," Proctor replied. "But it is."

"And you take to kidnapping people off of the streets now, then?"

"Forgive my men, they can be a bit brazen at times. I think they've watched far too many movies." Proctor moved around her desk and stopped before a table in the centre of the room. Here, there was a laptop computer and a map with numerous markers placed upon it. "When Abigail reported to me that you were here, I thought it best we bring you in straight away. Edmund Lockwood is a man we've been watching for a number of years now, and he's started to push his luck in terms of what he can get away with while we're keeping an eye on him."

"Oh, but he's just an amateur archaeologist and collector," the Doctor said. He did not try and hide his sarcasm. "That's what he's told me, anyway. I can tell you that he's an ambitious man driven mainly by greed and the desire to be famous. Not only that, but he likes to control others. A great combination of character elements for a man to have, especially one with power and money." The Doctor narrowed his eyes at Proctor. She looked to be in her early thirties, with dark blonde hair that had been tied into a neat ponytail. Her blue eyes regarded the Doctor with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. She had most likely been briefed about him, but had never met him and as such did not know what to make of him now that they had met.

"Lockwood has been collecting items we'd rather he not," Proctor said.

"I saw as much. You can't expect to control that sort of thing? Someone's going to get their hands on some sort of exotic alien technology sooner or later, since it keeps getting left lying around all the time." The Doctor had found this era's UNIT to be a bit stricter than he would have liked, certainly a far cry from the UNIT he had worked with decades before.

"We've done a good job of burying most of it so far."

"By passing it onto Torchwood? Or C19?" The Doctor was unimpressed. "Or do they get what falls between the cracks?"

"I was told you'd be critical of our methods," Proctor countered. "Not that it matters. You're here with us now, Doctor, and it'd be best if you cooperated. I'm authorised to give you full command here, but first we need to know what you found in that excavation site. It's important, I'm sure you can understand."

"Oh, I understand all right." The Doctor remained unconvinced. Things with Lockwood he could have handled himself. With UNIT around and interfering as they often did, those things would likely get complicated, more so than he would have preferred. "First, tell me what you think Lockwood is after, down in that excavation site?"

"Official story says he's after some old Viking-era chamber supposedly filled with treasure."

"And you don't believe that?"

"I suspect that there's more to whatever 'treasure' down there than whatever Lockwood and his friends have been telling the outside world."

"No, seriously Captain, what do you think he's going to find down there?"

Proctor frowned at him, but a smile formed at her lips. She probably thought it best she humoured him. That was likely what the higher-ups had told her to do, as UNIT no doubt knew him very well.

"Why ask me, Doctor? You're the expert on this sort of thing. You have first-hand experience with digging up ancient places. I could even name a few incidents here and there…"

"I'm sure you can." The Doctor had a feeling he knew what incidents she was referring to. "Nonetheless, before I start giving away the goodies, I'd like to know what it is UNIT thinks is down there."

"That's just it, Doctor. We don't have any solid information. That's why there's only a few of us here. A token presence, assigned to keep an eye on Lockwood and his dig. I didn't think much of the assignment until you showed up. And history can attest to the fact that wherever you go, trouble follows."

The Doctor put on a hurt expression, if only partly seriously.

"Oh, Captain, you hurt my feelings when you say things like that. You make it almost sound like I _start_ the trouble. I'll admit, I do stumble into things, but I never start it. Well, I mean, I don't _always_ start it." He paused for a moment, mulling the matter over. "What do you think is under that fortress? Alien weapons? Hibernating monstrosities? A deadly virus?"

"It could be any of those things, or something else altogether. You went down there, Doctor. You tell us what you found."

The Doctor shrugged.

"I didn't find much, believe it or not."

Proctor's gaze lit up with curiosity. She no doubt wanted to hear more.

"Really, Doctor?"

"Yes, really. I think much of the good stuff is sealed behind this metal door they found down there." He paced to the other end of the room as he spoke, his attention going to the old shield up on the far wall. That was an antique right there, presumably left behind by the previous owners.

"Metal door?"

"Some sort of exotic bunker entrance, I think. But there's not enough dug out to tell." The Doctor stated this absently, as if it were common knowledge. He put a hand to the shield, feeling along its partly rusted surface, roughened with time. "I opened it for them, by the way."

"You what?"

He turned to Proctor, whose eyes had widened a little.

"I want to know what's down there as much as anyone else," he said, bringing his hand down. "You can't blame me for being a little curious, Captain Proctor. It can't be anything too serious. And if it is, I'm sure you UNIT people will happily blow it up. Heaven knows you've done that before."

"That's a pretty blasé attitude to have."

"You're right, it probably was a mistake. Especially now that I've gotten to know Lockwood a little better." He spoke truthfully, even if he was genuinely determined to find out what was buried under that fortress. "You know, _Captain_ Lockwood has a pet alien. Some sort of vaguely reptilian humanoid, I don't recognize the species but I can assure you he isn't from around here. About as alien as I am."

"A pet alien?" Proctor practically spat the words. "That's insane. He can't do that."

"It sounds almost like _you_ want the pet alien, Captain." The Doctor smiled. "And it looks like Lockwood can do what he pleases. He's got the money, hasn't he? That's what it always comes down to. A man with enough money can do whatever he pleases. At least, you people allow things to be that way."

"Where's this alien now?"

"At his house. Where do you think?"

"What kind of alien? Where'd he get it?"

"He says he found it."

"And you believe him?"

The Doctor shrugged.

"Of course not," he said. "Not entirely. Lockwood is many things, but honest he isn't. But the point is, he's keeping a sentient being locked up like it's nothing more than a dog. You might consider looking into that little secret of his. He could have more like that, but something tells me this is the only one he hasn't had dissected."

Proctor shook her head. Apparently all this information was hard for her to grasp, if the disbelieving look on her face was anything to go by.

"This is a lot of information at once, Doctor," she said. "I'll need to write a full report to headquarters. They need to know about this."

"You go ahead," the Doctor replied. "I've got an engagement in the morning."

"What engagement?"

"The underground door operates on a time delay," he explained. "So it'll be opening in a while. Makes it clearer that it's some kind of bunker, or maybe a ship. Won't know until I take a look inside."

"Very well, Doctor." Proctor did not sound too keen as she said this. "You do what you have to do. I need to put together a report and maybe get some further help out here. So far I've got about six troops, plus Abigail, at my command. Hardly enough to stand up to whatever might be under that fortress."

"Which could easily be nothing more than a dead alien ship," the Doctor said. "You shouldn't always assume the worst, Captain Proctor. It's not healthy."

"It's my job to be ready for the worst," she countered. "Have you anything further to add, Doctor? Any other information that might help us?"

The Doctor shook his head.

"I'm afraid that's about it," he said. "I'll fill you in with more, as I find it." He looked to the clock on the wall. It was close to midnight, but being who he was, he hardly felt tired at all. Proctor, on the other hand, looked as if she were struggling to keep her eyes open.

"You should get some sleep, Captain," he said. "You look like you're about to collapse."

* * *

It was late, and Lockwood was on the verge of preparing himself for bed when the computer terminal in his study lit up. Seated at his desk, puffing on his old wooden pipe, he was surprised to see that someone had sent him a fairly large message, if the file sizes of the attachments were anything to go by. When he saw the address of the sender, he realised that his old friend had come through, as he so often did, and had delivered the very sort of information that Lockwood had been after ever since meeting the 'Professor' from Oxford.

His study was lit by a single lamp, casting a subdued yellow glow over the desk and about half of the room itself. The curtains were drawn over the window and rain pattered against the glass outside. The rest of the estate was quiet, perhaps eerily so. Lockwood put his focus on the computer terminal as he accessed what he had been sent, feeling some satisfaction at the wealth of very fascinating photos and documents that had arrived.

The Professor from Oxford was no Professor at all. He had known as much from the start, but he had humoured the man to begin with. Now, after what had happened at dinner, he figured he had made a mistake even allowing him to get involved. This 'Professor' was not even from this planet, apparently. And judging from the many photographs he had been sent, this 'Professor' had had many different faces. Apparently this was only the tip of the iceberg, as this 'Doctor' had appeared so many times before in so many different places that the information here only covered a fraction of these occurrences.

Wales 1959. Shoreditch 1963. A lengthy stretch of work for UNIT through the late 1970s. This Doctor had done a lot in a lot of places, and nearly every time had involved some kind of alien threat. Things like these had been brushed under the carpet, naturally, but Lockwood had not come this far in his career without knowing those who could access these secrets and pass them to him. Lockwood was very much fascinated by all of this, yet he could see right away that the Doctor was dangerous. He had already made this clear with his reaction to Scales, who he no doubt intended to free on some misguided sense of justice.

 _If only you knew the truth about him. He's no angel, Doctor. And neither are you, it seems._ The phone at his desk began to ring, breaking Lockwood's train of thought. He picked it up, knowing full well who it would be.

"Hello Henry," he said. "Yes, I received the lot. I can see right now that I've got a bit of a problem on my hands. This Doctor is dangerous. He could derail everything I've worked to achieve." He paused, listening to the man on the other end, who spoke in a level tone yet it was one that carried an aggressive edge. "I know how you feel. This is the one who almost ruined you, isn't it? He had a different face then, didn't he?"

Lockwood leaned back in his chair, phone to his ear, as his gaze went to a display case on the far wall. Inside this one was a stuffed leopard, standing on all fours with its glassy, empty eyes looking straight ahead.

"Someone like him would do well in my collection," he said. "I'm still debating whether I should keep him alive or not. He has proven helpful, but as we can both attest to now, he will be trouble. I think I'll continuing humouring him. He did open the underground chamber for us, after all." He paused again, allowing the man on the other end of the line to speak. "Of course, I understand, Henry. As soon as he starts to get in the way, I'll deal with him. He's not invincible. What you sent me says as much. He can die, like anything else. And he's apparently done that several times before."

A collage of photos was on the terminal in front of him. An old man with lengthy, silvery hair. A diminutive man with a black mop-top. A tall man in a cravat with a shock of curly white hair. And so forth, a collage of the Doctor's many faces. The one Lockwood was focused on now was one of a tall man with short, greying hair and a serious look on his face, an almost world-weary expression as if the Doctor had finally reached a point in his life where even the universe itself was beginning to lose its wonder. The latest model, apparently.

"I'll talk to you again later, Henry." After bidding their farewells, Lockwood ended the call. Putting the phone aside, he continued to flick through the files he had been sent, doing his best to familiarise himself with this 'Time Lord' from 'Gallifrey'. So much tantalising information, so little time. Lockwood needed some sleep, but he also needed to know everything he could about the Doctor. He had no desire to see his life's work brought down by this man, this stranger, who would often appear somewhere and bring trouble with him.

 _I get the impression that the world might be safer if you weren't around, Doctor._


	7. The Bunker

**The Bunker**

The morning upon the moorland was freezing cold, as was often the case this time of year. A steady wind blew in from the sea, carrying with it a salty tang to the air and the vague stench of seaweed. The town of Machara was beginning to become active, with the local fishermen heading out on their morning rounds, as did the postman as he moved from house to house on his motorcycle, dropping letters and brochures at their intended destinations.

The Doctor watched all this as he was driven through down by one of the UNIT people. They had been kind enough to give him a lift, and it certainly beat walking the many miles between the fortress and the UNIT command post. The town was almost typically quaint for this part of the world, with narrow winding streets and old brick houses. The population was likely only a few hundred.

The driver was one of the burly agent types who had snatched him off of the street last night. He was as talkative as he had been then and the Doctor's few attempts to get him into a conversation had fallen flat. So the trip was carried out in silence, allowing the Doctor more time to think. The time delay on the underground door was likely nearing its end, and he intended to be there when it opened. He could not trust Lockwood and his people to treat whatever was behind it with care. He could not trust Lockwood at all, really. UNIT's distrust of the man was well-placed.

Passing through the town, they went on into the countryside. There were quite a few miles between the town and the fortress, mainly across open grassy moors and short, stout hills with some scattered trees. The fortress was practically ugly in comparison, all grey and worn down, falling apart in places. The driver stopped the car outside the front gate of the perimeter that had been placed around the old fortress and the Doctor stepped out, closing the door behind him. Almost as soon as he was out the driver sent the car shooting off.

There was one bored looking guard at the front gate. He saw the Doctor and apparently recognized him, as he opened the gate without any questions.

"It's good to feel welcome," the Doctor quipped. The guard did not reply and simply watched him as he walked on through.

It was a quiet time of day here. Very few workers were around, and only a handful of guards patrolled the fortress. None of them paid much attention to him as he made his way inside and down the set of stairs that went underground. He entered the cavern deep underneath the fortress, the air reeking of seaweed and seawater. As he expected, most of the activity around here was focused on the sealed door. Ridgefield was there, standing nearby, watching the door eagerly. The Doctor approached him, the sound of his footsteps enough to cause Ridgefield to turn and face him.

"Professor Smith," he said, seemingly pleased to see him. "It's not open yet, unfortunately. How much longer do you think is on the time delay?"

The Doctor did not know for certain. As it stood, he only had speculation to go by.

"Probably some generic amount of time, such as twelve hours. Maybe eight." He stopped nearby. Some more of the rock near the door had been hewn away, further revealing the thick metal wall that the door was built into. There was little to see that would have given any clues as to who might have built the place. The Doctor could only guess, and at the moment his guesses were fairly broad.

"Why would they have a time delay?"

"A precautionary measure, I'd say. Decreases the chance of an accidental opening."

"You believe they expected there to be danger outside?"

"Most definitely. This could be a ship, Ridgefield. They'd need to keep the vacuum out, wouldn't they?" The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Or it could be something else. A security measure protecting something important. Even a bunker."

"A bunker?"

"Just speculation." The Doctor spoke levelly, but he was beginning to lean more towards this possibility. It was simply a feeling he had, and he had come to trust his 'gut feelings' as much as any scientific proof. Perhaps more so, as scientific proof was not always reliable and sometimes easily fabricated.

"I find all this talk about aliens a bit hard to digest," Ridgefield said. He scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "Why would there be aliens in Scotland?"

"You'd be surprised where you could find aliens."

"You talk like it's common knowledge."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes at Ridgefield.

"I thought it was," he said simply. Before Ridgefield could reply, a familiar voice sounded from some distance behind them.

"Ah, so we've all gathered for the big event," Lockwood announced. He came to a stop just in front of the Doctor, regarding the Time Lord with an oddly scrutinising gaze. It was the sort of look the Doctor had come to expect from someone who was trying to work him out and, perhaps, did not entirely trust him. The distrust, in this case, was mutual.

"How much longer do we have to wait?" Lockwood asked. "It's been hours." He looked to the Doctor, no doubt expecting an answer from him. "Surely you must have some idea?"

"Just a little bit longer," he said, keeping his eyes on the door.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Wild guess," the Doctor replied, glancing at the man sharply. Lockwood was not the most patient man, even less so when a potentially world-changing discovery was right in front of him. A trio of Lockwood's hired guards stopped nearby, presumably waiting for the door to open. All three carried submachine guns and all were outfitted in grey uniforms and black Kevlar vests, complete with black baseball caps. They practically smelled like mercenaries.

"How's the dog going?" The Doctor asked, his tone cold. Lockwood seemed confused for a moment, but the realisation dawned on him as to what the Doctor was referring to.

"Still hung up on that?" Lockwood asked. "Really, Professor, I expected better from someone of your calibre. A man is entitled to his hobbies."

"Like keeping aliens as slaves?"

Lockwood shook his head.

"Now is not the time to take the moral high ground, Professor," he stated. "I found that alien fair and square. He would be lost without me. Probably locked up in some laboratory somewhere getting experimented on. Hardly fitting for such a fine specimen."

The Doctor could hardly believe the nerve of this human. He had met a lot of unsavoury, dislikeable individuals in the past, and Lockwood was beginning to rise up the list of those he hated the most. Even so, what could he do about it, right here and now? They were here to explore the underground chamber, hardly the time and place to argue about the morals of keeping an alien the way Lockwood was. A sentient creature, no less, even if it had not spoken when the Doctor had met it. He was sure it had that capacity, the sheer fact that it was bipedal would indicate some level of advanced evolution. And the whole question of how it had ended up in Scotland in the first place was a big one, and it was one the Doctor was very much keen on finding the answer to, no matter what Lockwood might say or do.

"Hardly fitting to keep him chained up like an angry dog," the Doctor said, gritting his teeth. The sheer principle of what Lockwood was doing grated on his nerves enough to bring out his anger, an anger he kept contained as well as he could.

Lockwood did not reply. Rather, his attention had gone to the sealed door. Something within it had started to click rapidly, and the small block-shaped panel to its right flashed red. The Doctor found himself watching it as well, and soon enough all eyes were directed to this door as some inner mechanism worked. Almost as quickly as it had begun, the clicking stopped and slowly but surely, the door opened. Its ancient hinges creaked and groaned, and the door itself depressed inwards slightly before sliding to the left, revealing darkness beyond. There was an audible hiss as air flowed out of the chamber, ancient musty air that had been locked away for some incredible amount of time. It smelled distinctly fishy, indicating that there may have been a breach of seawater deeper within. Nonetheless, first impressions of the room beyond it were hard to discern, as it was so very dark. The doorway, now completely open, received only a small amount of light from the chamber. A very metal floor was visible, wet in places, but otherwise there was little else that was visible.

Ridgefield was the one to step forwards first. He had a flashlight in one hand and he switched it on, sending the whitish light into the gloom. Ahead was a short corridor, its floor littered with puddles, the interior strictly metal. Another door was at the end, and another on the right.

"Doesn't look like much," Lockwood said.

"Were you expecting a chest full of gold?" The Doctor asked him.

"At least I'd know what to do with one of those."

The Doctor stepped into the dingy corridor. From inside his jacket pocket he withdrew his sonic screwdriver. Its green glow lit up some of the way, but he was using it more to detect any power signatures than as a source of light. Ridgefield fell into step on his left, sweeping the beam of his flashlight along the walls and floor. They moved on ahead, followed by Lockwood and his hired guards. Stopping by the open doorway on their right side, Ridgefield did a sweep of his flashlight beam across the room. It was mostly bare, save for a bench in the centre and some kind of broken screen at one wall.

"I didn't think they had LCD screens back in the eleventh century," Ridgefield muttered dryly. They moved on ahead, with the Doctor leading the way. His sonic screwdriver had detected a faint power source, so it seemed logical to head towards it as they would most likely find the main point of interest there. As far as he could tell, this place was mostly dead and deserted. The interior architecture was all curved and refined, yet spartan in its layout, with very little embellishments. It could have belonged to any number of species, so he refrained from making any wild guesses and instead focused on finding out as much as he could about this place and whoever had built it.

They rounded the corner at the end of the hall. There was another door here, one that sat partially open. As the Doctor approached, a hum sounded in the background and abruptly the lights in the ceiling flickered on. Most did not work properly, flickering sporadically, and many did not work at all. Nonetheless, some kind of sensor had been tripped, since the readings from his sonic screwdriver increased and the power source they had been following grew somewhat. The humans behind him stopped, startled by the sudden blaze of light. Ridgefield looked up, switching his flashlight off, aware that a glass-like black object was jutting from above the doorway. Some kind of exotic alien camera, the Doctor figured, as he followed the man's gaze.

"I wouldn't worry about it," he said. "I don't think anyone's watching us."

"How can you be so sure?" Ridgefield asked. He was clearly unsettled. Lockwood, on the other hand, shook his head with disdain.

"This place is clearly empty, Ridgefield," Lockwood said. He sounded almost disappointed. "Seems like a waste, but I'm sure something of interest can be salvaged from here."

"I wouldn't be so sure, Captain." The Doctor pushed open the door, its hinges creaking loudly. The room behind it was large, and from the look of it there was a lot more to this place beyond it. On the left were about half a dozen large metal cylinders, each about seven feet in height. The Doctor approached one of them, noting the control panel by each. A quick scan with his sonic screwdriver revealed that there was some power running through these, and more was being redirected as time went on, as if the power source had detected the intruders and started some kind of pre-programmed routine. Even now there was condensation building on each of these cylinders. The Doctor put his hand to one and it was cold to the touch, almost painfully so.

"What are they?" Ridgefield asked.

"Cryogenic stasis tubes," the Doctor said. He had seen this sort of thing before.

"Stasis tubes?" Lockwood stepped forwards, frowning at the Doctor. "You're saying there's someone inside there?"

His sonic screwdriver could not tell him much more. Anyone or anything could have been inside that tube. He needed more information and the most likely place to get it was the control centre of this place, which could have been anywhere. Nonetheless, it seemed the best course of action was to continue following the readings to the main power source.

"They're defrosting," the Doctor said.

"Waking up, are they?" Lockwood sounded intrigued. "What do you think they are? Aliens?"

"Maybe." The Doctor was no longer certain. He moved on ahead at a brisk pace, with the others following him after some moments dawdling near the tubes as Lockwood took the time to examine one.

The door ahead slid open automatically as they approached. Behind it was a large, circular room. A glass viewport was at the end, smeared with dirt and grime accumulated over aeons of zero maintenance. Alien computer terminals were up against the walls and before the viewport, with blinking white lights on some indicating that this whole place was coming back to life. The Doctor stopped before what he guessed was the main control computer, situated just before the viewport. Through the thick glass, he could make out a massive underground chamber. It was too dark to see much more than that, but he had a good feeling as to what lay underneath. Ridgefield stopped behind him, watching what he was doing, while Lockwood poked around the rest of the room.

"Captain, would you mind not pressing buttons at random?" The Doctor snapped. Lockwood froze, shooting the Doctor a mean glance but otherwise he refrained from pressing anything. By now, the Doctor had a good idea of what to expect down here. And, depending on how they went about their investigation, things could turn out well or go very, very badly. He was starting to think more the latter possibility, given that Lockwood and his hired goons were here.

"What is this place, Professor?" Ridgefield asked, fascinated. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

The Doctor turned to his left, laying eyes on another one of the stasis tubes. This one was situated in the far corner of the control room, and the lights near it flickered on as its awakening sequence began.

"It's a bunker," the Doctor said. Lockwood walked up to the stasis tube, putting a finger to its increasingly wet and warm surface. "As soon as we walked in the computers down here began to reactivate. They had sensors everywhere, enough to detect life and start the process to wake up what's asleep down here."

"So there are aliens in here? Waking up right now?" Ridgefield was understandably worried. The Doctor turned to look at him, his expression dour. They had walked into a very dangerous situation, but it was not all doom and gloom. There were ways out of these things.

"Yes, but they may not be aliens."

"What? They could be people?"

"Not in the sense you'd normally use the word." The Doctor returned his attention to the main computer. The panel had a fairly conventional layout, and he was able to reactivate the main computer monitor after manipulating the control panel with his sonic screwdriver. A holographic display appeared across the grime-smeared viewport, alien calligraphy scrolling across a layout of the facility. That was what it was, really; a facility, not a spacecraft. The place had been built here a very long time ago, and had likely been worn out and torn up in parts over time, with the way the continents moved over many millions of years. The people down here had overslept for far longer than they had intended.

"There's one right here," Lockwood said, referring to the stasis pod in the corner.

"Probably the one in charge."

"One in charge?" Lockwood practically scoffed. "What are they? Really?"

Focusing on the holographic display, the Doctor could see that the layout presented had many areas marked in red. The main power source had decayed to the point where it could hardly keep the facility running now, after all this time, and it had automatically diverted power to where it had deemed most important.

"There are thousands of them," the Doctor muttered.

"Thousands? Thousands of what?" Lockwood heard him and perked up.

The Doctor tapped one of the buttons in front of him, a large blinking yellow one that was soft to the touch, almost organic in nature. A spray of water splashed across the viewport, hosing away much of the dirt and grime and revealing the vast chamber beyond. Several lights blinked on deep in that chamber, casting the rows upon rows of stasis tubes in a bright white light. Lockwood walked up to the window, seeing this for himself, his eyes widening at the sight.

"Dear God, they're all going to wake up?" For all his ambition, even Lockwood knew when a situation was out of hand.

"No," the Doctor replied simply. "The power source here is barely able to cope putting those lights on. It's only defrosting the essential personnel. Many of those pods down there would have failed years ago. Only a small percentage of those inside would still be preserved."

"Essential personnel?" Lockwood practically spat the words. "What have we stumbled into here?"

"A bunker." The Doctor turned to face him. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Hundreds of specimens at your disposal. Why, Captain Lockwood, you seem almost _panicked_. I thought you'd be excited."

"Of course I'm bloody panicked," Lockwood replied. "This is ridiculous. We could have just woken up an army of alien warriors."

"They're not aliens," the Doctor countered. He was fairly sure what they had found now. As if on cue, the pod in the corner hissed and the protective metal shell upon it retracted, grinding along its ageing housing. The yellowish, translucent material the inner shell was comprised of provided some view of the creature inside. Lockwood walked towards it, intrigued, yet from what the Doctor could see, he was also a little bit frightened.

A pair of large, yellowish eyes stared blankly ahead, set upon a large grey head covered in scales, with fin-like protrusions at either side, almost crowning the creature. The Doctor knew right away what they had found then, and he knew that it was probably in their best interest to leave. If only he could find a way to shut down the main power source. The control panel before him did not spell things out, and his knowledge of the technology of this particular species was somewhat limited. He had to make a few guesses, but surely shutting down a failing power source could not be too difficult? He had to put a stop to all of this automation. Waking up these slumbering creatures out of the blue would be a mistake.

The translucent cover of the pod slid open then, and the creature inside, outfitted in a bulky set of black armour, fell forwards. It hit the floor with a _thump_ , still mostly unconscious. Lockwood jumped back in fright, eyes wide as he regarded the dozing reptilian humanoid with wide eyes.

"What on Earth is _that_?" He asked, composing himself.

Ridgefield knelt by it, not at all fazed despite likely never having seen something like it before. The creature was covered in a layer of condensation, an after-effect of being suspended in cryogenic stasis for so long. The Doctor had a good idea of how long it, and the others down here, had been frozen and it had been far too long for their bodies to properly cope. That creature was likely going to be a bit unsteady on its feet for many hours to come, and it was one of the lucky ones. According to the readouts on the holographic display, scores of the pods had gone dark. They would contain nothing but preserved corpses.

"A prehistoric Earth reptile," the Doctor said, keeping his voice level. "I need to shut down the reanimation sequence. If I don't, we could be in trouble."

"Shut it down?" Lockwood shook his head. "This is incredible. Why shut it down? We could use these specimens. 'Earth reptiles', you say? So they're not aliens?"

"They're as native to this world as you are," the Doctor said. The power source had since given this particular pod most of its power. He could only presume that the creature lying unconscious near them was the one in charge. "They were living in cities while humans had not yet evolved past swinging about in trees."

"Fascinating," Ridgefield said. "It looks like it's in some kind of armour. Smells like fish, too." Ridgefield prodded it with one finger, but it did not stir. Its chest visibly heaved up and down, so it was breathing, but the creature itself was very much dormant.

Lockwood motioned to the three hired goons who had tagged along with them.

"I want you to carry this back to the surface," he said. "Take it to the research quarter. Understood?"

Two of the mercenaries knelt by the creature, one taking its legs and the other by its arms. The Doctor watched, not sure whether he should be surprised by Lockwood's audacity or not. The man must have been mad, to try taking one of them up to the surface.

"What are you going to do with it?" The Doctor asked.

"Research, Professor," Lockwood replied as he rose to his feet. "Something you should be very familiar with, if you really are a 'Professor', after all."

The Doctor did not reply. He narrowed his eyes, and for a moment there both men stared at each other, each one trying to work out the other, seemingly attempting to look into each other's very souls. The Doctor saw nothing but ambition in Lockwood's eyes, the kind that could drive a man to cast aside others in their attempts to achieve glory. The kind that could get people killed.

"Are you going to add him to your collection?" The Doctor asked. "Another living specimen to show off to your guests?"

"Spare me the moralising, Professor," Lockwood countered. "A man like you, such an esteemed liar, has no right to attempt to take the moral high-ground. You really think your flimsy fake ID convinced me, Professor?" There was a pause. A smile crept upon Lockwood's mouth. "Or should I say, _Doctor?_ "

He was not surprised that Lockwood had found him out, but the situation had gone far enough for something like that to not really matter. Lockwood was making a mistake here, and there was little he could do as the mercenaries carried away the unconscious bipedal reptile.

"What's going on, Professor?" Ridgefield asked. "What have we found?"

"Sea Devils," the Doctor said. His voice was serious, his expression grave. "A literal army of them. Soldiers, warriors. Killers." The armour on the one the hired help was carrying away certainly indicated as much. And all Lockwood had on his mind was personal glory. "And we've made a mistake by coming in here. An even greater one by meddling."

"Sea Devils?" Ridgefield frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? That can't be an official name."

"Like I said, Earth reptiles. They predate humanity's rise by a very long time. And we've just stepped into one of their bunkers, and woken them up, no less." The Doctor could do little more with the controls here. The decaying power source, presumably some sort of advanced generator, had decayed to the point where it could only keep a small percentage of the stasis pods in operation. That, and it was waking up the essential personnel.

"We need to leave," the Doctor said. He did not need to say this twice. Lockwood was already on his way out, along with his hired help, who now carried an unconscious and armoured Sea Devil between them. Ridgefield did not look keen to leave; his more scientific mind no doubt wanted to investigate more closely. The Doctor grabbed him by one shoulder and turned him towards the exit. "Like I said, we need to leave."

The group made their way back down the hallway outside, passing through the room where the six other stasis pods were located. Each one was beginning to open up, with the protective armoured shells retracting. The Doctor hurried through here, following Lockwood and the others back into the cavern beyond the unsealed door. Here, he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and used it to close the door, locking it as he did so. Of course, it was likely able to be opened from inside, so there was little chance the creatures within would be slowed down by a door of their own design. He turned to face Lockwood, who had since been met by two further guards. Both had trained their guns on the Doctor, not that this fazed him. He had had too many people point guns his way on far too many occasions. Instead, he looked straight to Lockwood, his eyes narrowed. The man was making a mistake, not that Lockwood himself could see this. All he could see was the potential to make himself famous and wealthier, and to add to his collection of 'exotic' items.

"I thank you for the help, Doctor," Lockwood said. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I get the impression you intend to meddle, and I can't have that. If what I've read about you is anything to go by, your meddling is capable of some very serious damage."

"You better hope that Sea Devil is in a good mood when it wakes up," the Doctor said simply. "Or you'll have a whole wealth of trouble on your hands."

"No more trouble than you'll likely cause." Lockwood motioned to one of the hired goons. This one stepped forwards, reaching out with one hand and clasping it around the sonic screwdriver that the Doctor still had clasped in his left hand. The guard snatched it away, handing it to Lockwood who took a brief look over the device.

"How fascinating," Lockwood said. He looked up again, his pale blue eyes set on the Doctor. As for the Time Lord in question, he remained stalwart, watching Lockwood with a coldly set gaze that spoke volumes for what he felt for the man. Ridgefield stood nearby, observing the whole exchange with a confused expression. "I'll be sure to have my researchers take this apart. I think there's some patentable tech in this 'screwdriver' of yours. That is what it is, Doctor? A 'sonic screwdriver'?"

"How much do you know, Lockwood?" The Doctor asked. He did not expect a solid answer. It was clear that Lockwood had been doing his research.

"I have my sources," Lockwood said. "Including someone who's encountered you in the past. He had a wealth of things to say about you, Doctor."

"Who?"

"Now why would I give that away?" Lockwood shook his head slowly. "You're lucky I'm letting you go now. I could have you carted to the same laboratory where my newest specimen will be going. 'Sea Devil', isn't that what you called it? There was mention of those in files from UNIT. And mention of you, no less."

The Doctor had underestimated Lockwood's capacity to get the information he wanted. It seemed a foolish thing, and he felt like slapping himself for it but he refrained from doing so. Lockwood had plenty of money, and with that in mind it should not have been a surprise that he had found out so much. Information could be purchased for the right price.

"I suggest you leave, Doctor," Lockwood said. "My guards will show you the way out."

"I can help you," the Doctor said. "And you'll need my help, because there's a bunch of angry Sea Devils about to wake up after hundreds of thousands of years being asleep. I can tell you that they're not going to be happy to see that their livestock's risen up in their place. The actions we take here, in the next twenty-four hours, are absolutely crucial. It could mean the difference between peaceful negotiation and a bloodbath."

"Livestock?" Lockwood snorted derisively. "Is that what they think of us? Then we shall have to show them otherwise. And what better way to do so, than to have their boss in captivity?" He paused. No doubt he referred to the Sea Devil his guards had taken away. "That is what you said, isn't it? The one in charge was woken up first, it only makes sense. Whatever computer system they have in that bunker would certainly prioritise him over everyone else."

"Listen to me, Lockwood," the Doctor snapped, clenching his jaw. His anger had been steadily building throughout the whole ordeal, now it was on the verge of exploding out of him. "You could start a war with what you're doing."

"A war? Unlikely. You even said so yourself, Doctor. Most of the creatures down there can't wake up, not with their power source on the fritz." Lockwood sounded smug, enough so for the Doctor to develop the urge to hit him hard enough to wipe the smile off of his face. "And a handful of 'Earth reptiles' aren't going to be too difficult to handle, certainly not after we find out what makes them tick. We have a specimen already, just for that purpose."

The Doctor could hardly believe what he was hearing. Lockwood looked so utterly confident and unfazed, as if what was happening was just another day on the job for him. Business as usual, with the addition of some Sea Devils in the mix. The Doctor had wanted to know what had been behind that door, now he fully regretted ever opening it. Of all the human beings he could have helped by mistake, and it had to have been someone like Lockwood.

"Leave, Doctor." Lockwood's voice became grim. "Unless you want to end up a specimen yourself?"

The Doctor looked at Lockwood, and then at the two guards who had their guns pointed at him.

"I'm giving you a choice," Lockwood continued. "I suggest you take the simpler option. We wouldn't want any blood to be spilled, would we?"

"You'll regret this," the Doctor said through gritted teeth. "I should have known better, with a man like you. At a crucial point you think of nothing more than your own personal gain."

"Again with the moral high ground." Lockwood did not sound convinced. "Please, Doctor. Allow my guards to show you the way out."

The two guards in question stepped forwards. The Doctor did not need to be told twice. He started walking, heading on the way out of the cavern while the two guards followed him a few paces behind. Lockwood watched him leave, his face dispassionate. He had gained what he needed from the Doctor, a way into the ancient bunker. Now he had a positive wealth of exotic technology to delve into.

As the Doctor was walking up the stairs, he heard Lockwood curse loudly. The man had no doubt found that the door was locked again, courtesy of the Doctor's actions. And since he had no real knowledge of how to operate the sonic screwdriver, he would probably need the Doctor to come back. And it was at this point, halfway up the stairs, that the Doctor turned and shoved the nearest guard. The man was unprepared for it, falling backwards and tumbling down the several steps to the bottom. The other guard stumbled as his friend fell into him, and the Doctor turned back around and started to run for the exit.

"Get him back down here!" Lockwood shouted from the cavern. "Get that Doctor back down here _NOW!"_


	8. Interlude

**Interlude**

The city of Varona was the prime tourist spot on Archov Prime. All sandy coloured buildings, none more than four floors high, with spires here and there that overlooked the city and the brilliant blue bay, it was the kind of place that would look great on a postcard. The streets were narrow, layered by bricks and gravel. Actual roads ran between the cities and towns dotted across the continent, but people here did not normally stray too far from their home-town. Spartus' people were not the travelling sort, and there were only some brave souls who ventured beyond the immediate region. As for Spartus, he had always dreamed of leaving this place, no matter how beautiful and peaceful it may have appeared. That was why he was lining up where he was now, on the main street that ran by the docks. From here, one could see the rickety wooden boats of traders and merchants bobbing about in the calm seas. Fishermen brought in their morning catches. Sea-birds flew high, their squawking calls echoing over the bay. The sky above was as blue as the sea, and the sun was a blazing yellow disc higher-up. One of Archov Prime's moons, a small ball of crater-marked rock, hung lower on the horizon.

"We are always looking for recruits," came the call from the man at the booth at the side of the road. About a dozen others like Spartus was lined up here, before a wooden table that had been hastily set up by a bunch of travelling human soldiers. "The people of Archov Prime are said to be strong and brave, if insular and isolationist. We are here to provide a means for the bravest among you all to prove to the rest of the galaxy that the best rumours of you are true."

Humans were not a common sight here on Archov Prime. It must have been an especially monumental occasion that had brought them here, well away from any of their own worlds. Some would say that humans were everywhere, ubiquitous even, and more than one hardliner had likened them to a pest, or a virus. The way they spread and expanded rapidly certainly added credence to such claims. Spartus did not care much for such opinions, he had no problem with humans or any other sentient species for that matter. Humans were so far the only sentient species he had met other than his own, and it was his intention to get off of this planet and see a great deal more than he ever would if he stayed here. He had no desire to become a fisherman, like his father was, and as much as he liked some of the prospective young, local females his mother had been trying to set him up with, he very much wanted off of this world and the shackles of an ordinary, Varona based life. Had his father known what he was doing now, there would have likely been trouble. As it stood, he intended to be gone before the man found out.

It took about fifteen minutes, but eventually Spartus reached the front of the line. Here, a stern looking human, middle-aged and with greying hair, sat in a rugged grey coat behind a table with a number of data-pads before him. To either side of him stood a human man in soldier's armour, rifles held across their chests. The older man, an officer Spartus presumed, looked up and regarded the latest arrival with an examining gaze.

"You look like you've got some muscle on you," the officer said. "Tell me, can you fight?"

"I can use a gun," Spartus said. It was practically required for every young man in town to learn how to defend himself. "And I can hold my own in a brawl."

"Excellent." The officer sounded satisfied, despite the brief answer. He slid a data-pad across the table and handed a stylus to Spartus. "You must want off this planet, I take it?"  
"Never wanted anything more."

"Even better." The officer gestured to the pad. "You sign there, and you'll be issued a gun and body armour. You'll meet at the docking port in one hour's time and from there you'll be assigned to a squad and sent to the frontlines."

"How goes the war, anyway?" Spartus picked up the data-pad in one hand, looking at the space on the display that he was to sign. The realisation that his very future hinged on whether or not he signed hit him suddenly, and the doubt within him began to balloon outwards. He hovered the stylus over the screen for a moment, part of him unable to put the tip to the display.

"The war goes marvellously," the officer replied. "We rout our enemies at every turn, and our cause is a fine one, our leader a visionary."

"Huh." Spartus did not care much for the reasons behind the war, or whatever other lies the officer felt like churning out. He simply needed a way off of this planet, and there was little stopping him from deserting once he was out in the great beyond.

"We're a very open-minded bunch, when it comes to recruitment," the officer added. "Morbius is always searching for willing volunteers."


	9. The Marshall

**The Marshall**

The Doctor had done a lot of running in his time. Upon leaving Gallifrey all those years ago, he had been running, running through space and time, doing his damnedest to do the things other Time Lords did not have the courage do to. While they had sat back and watched, he had gone to where injustice and suffering had ruled, and he had done all he could to fight it. Even now he ran, blazing a trail through the muddy grounds of the fortress as he bolted his way out of the central keep. Workers and technicians watched him go by, likely wondering just why the tall man in the fancy black coat was running, while three armed guards came running out of the keep behind him. They did not shoot at him, probably because Lockwood wanted him alive. This did not cause the Doctor much relief.

The gate in the outer wall was wide open and a bored looking guard stood near it, a cigarette in one hand trailing a thin wisp of smoke. Someone must have said something through his earpiece, because as the Doctor neared he suddenly threw the cigarette aside and raised his gun.

"You there! Stop!" His shouts echoed throughout the fortress, reverberating off of the mossy stone walls. The Doctor did not stop, instead he ran straight for the guard, noticing the uncertainty on his face as the order came through to take the 'runner' alive.

"Stop! Stop right now!" He fired a shot, sending it wide. The Doctor stopped where he was, raising his hands, now only a few feet from the armed guard. Some distance behind him, his other three pursuers closed in. The guard in front of him stepped forwards, and the Doctor put out his hands quickly, clutching the gun the man was holding before pulling him close. Moving his grip up the man's arms, he carried him over one shoulder, rolling him over so that the guard landed on his back on the muddy ground, hitting the mud with an audible _squelch_. It had been a while since the Doctor had needed to pull out the Venusian aikido, but now seemed as good a time as any. While the guard remained stunned for a moment, the Doctor resumed his sprint, rushing out of the gate and onto the gravel road that wound its way across the grassy plain outside. He did not stick to the road, as it would only take him to a gate protected by even more guards. Instead, he headed off to the right, up the slight raise at the side of the gravel road, and into the knee high grass and squelching mud under it. And there, he kept on running, barely managing even a look behind as he raced for the perimeter fence.

By now, just about every other guard was after him. Lockwood was apparently very determined to get him back, and he was no doubt fiddling with the sonic screwdriver down in the cavern to try and reopen the door. Given what was behind it, the Doctor had a feeling that Lockwood would not need to wait long for someone else to open it for him.

The perimeter fence was tall and topped with a roll of barbed wire. The Doctor stopped before it, taking off his jacket before he threw it up and onto the top of the fence. It covered the barbed wire, allowing him to quickly scale it without cutting up his hands. Upon reaching the top, he jumped onto the other side, rolling upon landing to absorb the brunt of the impact. His pursuers were still crossing the plain towards him, and a few more guards were racing up the road from the main gate. With a brief pause, the Doctor rose to his feet and snatched his coat from where it hung on top of the fence. Only slightly damaged, he threw it back on and resumed his previous pace. By the time the guards were at the fence, the Doctor was far down the road, and despite his body's muscles aching and essentially telling him to stop, he kept on going. And despite everything that had just occurred, he knew exactly where he needed to go. The lion's den, in a sense, as he felt he might be able to learn a fair bit from such a venture.

* * *

Lockwood should have known as much. Of course the Doctor would lock the door again, and even with his magical sonic screwdriver it would not open. While his guards returned from their ineffectual pursuit of the Doctor, Lockwood made his way to the tent in the fortress grounds that was being hastily turned into a laboratory. Workers here cleared away boxes and equipment, scrubbing the floors and walls clean while one of them rolled a metal bench into place in the centre. On the floor nearby lay the 'Sea Devil', its chest moving with each breath it took, its yellow eyes closed and the fins at either side of its head relaxed. The creature had had rope tied around it, keeping its arms and legs bound together on the off-chance that it woke up.

It looked vaguely lizard-like, but with skin more reminiscent of an amphibian or a fish, rather than the kind of scales one might find on a land-dwelling lizard. To have such a creature in the flesh before him made him almost giddy. Like the alien he had found in the moors, sitting in a smouldering crater with its brother in its arms, Lockwood found himself faced with another perfect specimen. He intended to find out everything he could about this creature. That included the technology it had, down in the bunker, technology that could change the world. He would be the man to lead that change.

Lockwood watched as the laboratory took shape. It would be adequate for their purposes, and once they had a decontamination chamber attached to the entrance it would completely look the part.

There were a few guards standing about inside the tent. One of them was looking at the unconscious Sea Devil with widening eyes, and Lockwood could see why. The creature had opened its eyes, and right away it went to sit up. However, the ropes held it in place, and anger flashed through its pale yellow eyes as it began to struggle. Its bulky arms pushed against the binding ropes, but they would not budge, even to something with its strength.

Immediately the guards had their guns trained on it. Lockwood put up a hand, signalling them to ease off. He did not want the specimen damaged. At the moment, it was the only one they had.

The Sea Devil glared at him, likely presuming him to be the one in charge. It was confused, this much was clear, and this was no surprise given that it had spent a very long time frozen underground.

"Glad to see you're with us," he said. The creature seemed to consider his words for a moment, before it spoke in return. Its voice was raspy and stern, at first speaking in an alien tongue that Lockwood could not decipher. However, words began to form amongst it all, words he could recognize, as if some kind of advanced translation system was taking hold. God only knew what the armour it wore was capable of, as it likely had all manner of computer systems built into it.

"Where are the others?" It demanded.

"Others? You mean the others like you, in that bunker of yours?" Lockwood smiled, for lack of anything better. "I'm afraid they're mostly frozen, Mister Sea Devil. You were the first to wake up and you're the first one we decided to bring out of the facility. I must say, I'm surprised you can even understand me. How long have you been down there, in that stasis pod of yours? One hundred thousand years? Two-hundred thousand?"

The Sea Devil pushed against the ropes that bound it. There was anger in its eyes, an understandable reaction given how long it had been out of the loop.

"I'm going to wager a guess and say your armour's got some fancy translation technology in it," Lockwood added. "That's the sort of thing I'm after. You see, I'm a collector of sorts, and most recently I've taken to collecting live specimens. You have the honour of being the first of your kind to be added to your collection."

The creature glared at him. There was no doubt in his mind that it would have liked to lash out and strangle him, maybe break his neck.

"I understand that you've been out of the loop for a very long time," Lockwood said. "Not to worry, I'm sure you'll get the gist of what's been going on in your absence. You see, us humans have sort of become the rulers of this world, and not without good reason. Your people, on the other hand, are relics of a long gone era. Whatever cities you had have turned to dust now."

"You are merely an ape…"

"A very advanced kind of ape, if that is indeed the case. No one can really agree on evolution, can they?" Lockwood smiled. "Tell me, my fishy friend, do you have a name? Surely you do, since you are an intelligent species. So, instead of being all stubborn, you could help things along by giving me your name and telling me exactly what you've got stored down underground. And no, I don't mean your frozen friends. I mean the technology. The computers, the weapons, all the good stuff."

"I am Field Marshall Karva," the Sea Devil replied. "It is a name you should remember, for I will be the one to kill you."

"All bluster, I'm afraid," Lockwood said. "You're tied up, I'm not. And soon, we're going to have you up on a bench with a scalpel in your chest. I want to find out what you're made of, Mister Field Marshall, and that more or less means we're going to cut you open. Of course, we would put you to sleep for such a procedure, but as you are not human we have no idea how anaesthetic will affect your physiology. Alas, I'm afraid you're going to have to be conscious for the whole thing. I'm sure a creature of your strength can survive. I wouldn't want my latest prize specimen getting too damaged, would I?"

The Sea Devil continued to glare at him. Lockwood continued to smile down at it. It should be honoured, giving its body over to science. He did not intend to kill it, but if it did indeed die, there were plenty more in the facility deep below them to choose from. Despite what the Doctor had said, about many being dead after their pods having failed, there were likely still hundreds of the creatures frozen, ready to be thawed out and to have their secrets discovered. Lockwood could not have dreamed of a better outcome of the excavation.

He stepped away from the Sea Devil Field Marshall and went over to the phone set on the nearby bench. Picking it up, he dialled a number, putting a call in for the kind of experienced medical professionals he would need for a job like this. All the while Karva watched him with his large yellow eyes, piercing ones at that, and looking over Lockwood could see that the creature very much meant to kill him. It likely wanted to kill everyone here, not that it would get a chance. There was much work to be done, and he intended to have the secrets of the Sea Devils and their underground base unlocked and brought before the rest of the world. There could be a wealth of knowledge just waiting to be discovered, the sort that could change the world for the better.

Lockwood was the kind of man who simply wanted to elevate humanity, especially when he took into account all the troubles it had had with aliens over the years. Whereas people like Ridgefield could live in blissful ignorance of such threats, Lockwood had studied the usually covered-up alien incursions that had occurred throughout history and he had come to the conclusion that every possible measure had to be taken to protect the Earth and its people from the terrible things that lurked beyond the stars. If that meant cutting open a Sea Devil, so be it. He had not come to Scotland for nothing, and he had certainly not come out here to find only rusted axe-heads and Viking shields.

Two guards hefted the Sea Devil onto the surgical table nearby. The creature continued to struggle, yet there was little it could do, even in its armour and with its strength, which Lockwood guessed was somewhat more substantial than that of any human. Instead, it could only lie back and await the inevitable. All Lockwood needed here was a proper doctor, and certainly not the troublemaking one who had just gone sprinting out of the fortress.

* * *

Light filled his world for the first time, and the dreams he had had, of the marshes of his homeland, dissipated. Cold, hard reality faded into existence before him, and he found himself looking down a metal hallway that was rusted and partially flooded. Pain wracked his body as his muscles and joints moved for the first time in millennia, and his entire form shivered as the cold of the stasis pod flooded over him.

How many solar cycles had it been? The facility looked to be in poor shape, and even the advanced long-lasting alloys it had been built from appeared to be falling apart. Slowly, he reached forwards with his aching arms, heaving himself out of the pod before he took his first step. That step was a failure, as his legs simply gave way beneath him and he fell out of the pod, landing on the wet metal floor below him. Ending on his side, he began to shake, muscle spasms wracking his form as if his body had forgotten how to properly work itself. It had been too long, this much he knew immediately. Things were not meant to be at this level of ill-repair, and of course his body should have been reacting a lot better to waking up. It was like being born again, being dragged out into the light of the world kicking and screaming, emerging from an egg with your eyes barely able to cope with the light. This time around, there was no matron to cart you away to a nursing chamber. One had to cope on their own, to force their body to work again despite countless years of being still and frozen.

He slowly rose to his feet, leaning against the empty pod that had been his home for the last…well, he did not know just how long he had been asleep. The computers here were supposed to tell him as much, to show some kind of readout on the inside to let him know if the disaster had passed and whether others like him were awake and already outside preparing for a return to the surface. Instead, the systems here had simply woken him up without any such preparation. There was no medical staff on hand, as there should have been. They would have been woken up first, that way they could check on everyone else once they started to emerge from their pods. Instead, the facility was eerily quiet, with the noise of dripping water echoing down the empty halls. Something had gone wrong, this much was obvious, and he needed to find out what.

Nearby, the rest of the command staff were beginning to emerge. One of them, their chief scientist Gasrava, landed in a heap on the floor and let out a subdued groan. Unlike the others, he was not a warrior; he was dressed in a light blue gauze-like material. As for Havartiss, the second-in-command here, he was dressed in the black armour of a warrior of his level, a Commander. He stumbled past the others and headed for the control centre, passing through a set of open doors before he found his way inside.

Immediately he could see that the place had been tampered with. The main display was on, projected onto a grimy viewport. Numerous sections of the base, as laid out upon the display, flashed red. The stasis pod in the corner, where their leader was supposed to be located, was empty. There was no sign of Karva anywhere. Havartiss stopped before the control panel, muscles aching, and he quickly did a check of the base's systems. The power core was failing, and had been for a long time. Over the years, it had started to relegate power towards the core systems and away from the pods of the less essential personnel. As a result, hundreds of their own were dead, their pods having lost their power long ago. Hundreds of their own would have died in their sleep, likely preserved in their pods. So many of their own…

Havartiss closed his eyes for a moment. He could not dwell on that loss now. There were still many others who needed saving, and there was simply not enough power to go around. He opened his eyes again and tapped a few buttons, hoping he could determine the exact nature of their situation. How long had it been? And who had tampered with the controls here?

The second question was answered when he accessed the surveillance feeds, which had started up upon the power core coming back to life. This had been caused when one of the outer doors had been opened, its lock somehow having been manipulated from the outside. Havartiss watched the monitor as a group of very non-reptile people came strolling in, artificial lights in their hands as they investigated the facility. They had gone right past his pod, and the thought that these apes had been so close to him disgusted him. Not only that, but they did not look like the apes he was used to. These ones wore properly-made clothing and carried weapons and portable lights. Certainly not the cattle he was used to seeing. Of course, they should have all been dead, killed off by the cataclysm the scientists had foretold would occur. Yet these apes looked even better than before, and significantly less hairy. Just what had happened when they had been asleep?

Gasrava stumbled into the room, coughing and sputtering. He sat down on a bench at the wall, flexing his arms. Abruptly, and in a rather undignified manner, he threw up all over the floor, ejecting what little nutrient paste had been sitting in his gut when he had been frozen. Havartiss looked at him, narrowing his bright yellow eyes but saying nothing. Havartiss had had much disdain for the scientists, even more so now since it was clear that they had been mistaken about the impending disaster. Then again, a disaster had occurred, just not in the way they had expected.

Just how long had his people been asleep? He turned back to Gasrava, who looked worse for wear, hacking loudly whilst the fin-like protrusions at either side of his head bristled with each movement.

"How long did we sleep?" Havartiss asked him. Gasrava looked up, setting his gaze on his commander with a set of pale blue eyes.

"I…I do not know…"

Havartiss stepped forwards then, closing in on Gasrava suddenly, enough to make the scientist shift back in his seat. Standing over him, Havartiss put a hand to his collar and lifted him up onto his feet.

"Check the computers," he said, glaring at the scientist eye-to-eye. "Find out what I want to know. This place has already been tainted by the stench of those apes from outside, and it was people like you who said they should have all been destroyed."

"There were bound to be survivors," Gasrava said, somewhat nervously. "If we slept for long enough, a whole new species could have evolved."

"Ones intelligent enough to wield portable, artificial light and work the controls here?" He nodded towards the surveillance feed projected upon the main viewport. "Even intelligent enough to abduct the Field Marshall out of his pod?"

"What?" Gasrava brushed past him, walking to the surveillance feed playback. On the screen before them, Field Marshal Karva was being carried away by a bunch of the clothed apes, as if he were nothing more than a piece of meat. It would have been quite the humiliation for the Field Marshall, if it were not just the two of them watching.

"How long have we slept?" Havartiss asked again. Gasrava walked up to the main panel and began to work the controls. He hissed in frustration after some fiddling.

"The power core is failing," he said. "Scores of pods have been shut-down."

"Scores of our own are dead." Havartiss walked up alongside him. "And it was scientists like you who assured us that would not happen."

"The machines were never meant to keep us asleep for this long."

"And _how long?_ "

"I will need to run some diagnostics. You will get your answer, but it will take a little bit of time."

"How many of us are left?"

Gasrava tapped a few buttons and the screen changed, showing readouts on the pods that were still active.

"Sixty-percent, approximately."

"Hundreds dead, because of your 'foolproof' technology." Havartiss leaned forwards, speaking closely to his right head-fin. "How many of us can you awaken?"

"Ten-percent. And even that will take time. What we need is more power. The systems within the pods are very delicate…"

"Do what you have to do, Gasrava. I will handle the power problem." Havartiss was already formulating a plan in his mind. If the apes on the surface had evolved and advanced to such a point as to have portable lights and firearms, then surely they would have their own sophisticated means of generating power? "Is the armoury accessible?"

Gasrava tapped a few buttons and the display changed, zooming onto part of the facility layout on the display before them.

"It is," he said, after a moment. "What do you intend to do?"

"I intend to find our Field Marshall," Havartiss replied, although this was only a half-truth. Really, he wanted to scout the area above and find out just how much had changed since they had gone to sleep. If they found the Field Marshall, that was all well and good, though part of him liked the idea of being the one in charge. There was some dishonour in thoughts like that, but there was little problem to be had if he kept such thoughts to himself.

He would scout the area and seek out an alternate means of power, as there were many of their brothers and sisters waiting to be awoken and he intended to see that happen. As for the apes on the surface, they would have to be dealt with in some way, especially if they had advanced to the point of developing sophisticated technology. It hardly seemed believable, but he had seen the evidence and he did not like it whatsoever. The world had changed, and by all looks it seemed to have become worse. What had become of their cities, the grand metal cities of their people that had been scattered across the globe? Were they nothing but dust now, weathered by time and reduced to mere ditches in the Earth? It almost hurt to think about.

"Stay here," Havartiss told Gasrava. "Open the other exits. We need to know what we are dealing with on the surface."

"Of course, Commander," Gasrava said. "I do hope you find the Field Marshall. Without his leadership, we may truly be lost."

Havartiss clenched his jaw, trying his best not to take what had been said as an insult.

"Indeed, Gasrava," Havartiss replied. He did not mean it, but he put enough false conviction in his voice to fool the scientist. "Whatever would we do without our beloved Field Marshall?"


	10. Break In

**Break-In**

The Doctor found his way back to Lockwood's estate some time later. It was afternoon now, the sky above thickly overcast and a strong wind blowing in from the sea, carrying with it the stench of seaweed. Lockwood's estate stood tall upon its hill, and seemed at a glance to be fairly lifeless. No lights were on and he could not see any guards on patrol out on the grounds.

So far, his day had become progressively worse. With the discovery of the Sea Devil bunker, he had realised that with Lockwood involved, things would likely become complicated. No matter how hard he had tried, he had not been able to make Lockwood see reason, beyond his drive for wealth and fame. He already had plenty of the former, if this large estate was anything to go by.

The Doctor had an idea of what he was here for. He could hardly allow Lockwood to detain an intelligent alien for his own entertainment purposes, surely? He made his way around the perimeter fence, comprised of black bars with pointed tops and brick columns. It was nothing that could be easily climbed, so he worked his way to the back end of the perimeter where he found one of the brick columns to be in some disrepair. He was able to get a handhold on the falling brickwork, and with some effort he lifted himself upon the column before jumping from the top, landing behind a row of hedges on the other side. The backyard here was large, with rows of well-trimmed hedges and flower-beds, complete with a large fountain in the centre where a statue of a Viking warrior stood proudly while a stream of water shot out of the top of his head. There was a guard at the far end, standing near a row of hedges while puffing on a cigarette. The Doctor, keeping behind the hedges, slowly made his way along the edge of the garden. Coming to the house itself, he crouched at the wall below one window. At the back door, further to his right, another guard stepped into view. He did a quick scan of the surrounding area before turning back in the opposite direction, allowing the Doctor to edge his way closer to the rear entrance. He did not need to go too far to find a way in, as one of the doors was open and the smell of something baking wafted from within.

Sneaking about was sometimes necessary in his travels, if one wanted to get into certain points of interest. Lockwood's estate was certainly one of them. The Doctor peered over the bottom of the open window, looking into a kitchen beyond where a man in chef's garb had his back turned and was stirring something in a pot. Climbing over the windowsill, the Doctor planted his feet on the tiled floor inside as quietly as he could, before he crept closely along the wall and made his way through the door into the next room. He had some idea of where to go, as where would someone keep an exotic alien specimen in their vast, fancy estate? All signs pointed to some kind of basement or cellar, so that any prying eyes would not easily find their way to the 'specimen' in question.

The Doctor emerged into a hallway. Here, he stood upright and began to stroll confidently through the house. It was mostly empty, as it appeared that Lockwood only had small amount of personal staff: a cook and one or two servants, Ronaldson included. His guards were mostly on the outside from the look of things, and as such there were very few roaming the corridors here. Lockwood likely supposed that there was plenty on the outside to deter would-be burglars, and he probably did not want armed guards patrolling the walls of his home, being the old-fashioned sort he was. Besides, he had his own exotic guard-dog, did he not? An alien he had 'found' on the moors of Scotland of all places, a fascinating occurrence nonetheless and one the Doctor intended to get to the bottom of. How often did one simply stumble upon an alien, in the Scottish countryside? There was an entire mystery in itself there.

Still, the business with the Sea Devils would have to take precedence. If he could find anything in this estate that revealed more of Lockwood's motives and what connections he had, then it would make dealing with the man a lot easier. Surely he had some morally ambiguous things hidden away that could be used against him? The thought that he was going to have that captive Sea Devil cut open in some barbaric operation disgusted the Doctor, if only because it would be pointless and likely result in open hostilities. No matter what he had done, Lockwood had had no interest in opening up some kind of peaceful communications with the Sea Devils. The first thing he had done, upon finding a sentient race, was think of how they might benefit him in his quest for wealth and fame. He had outright told the Doctor that of the two aliens they had found on the moors, they had dissected one and isolated some kind of tissue-healing enzyme which Lockwood had rapidly patented. Just how dead had that alien been, when they had found it? The thought just made it all the clearer to the Doctor that Lockwood needed to be stopped, especially now, with a whole lot of Sea Devils at his fingertips, some of whom were about to wake up.

The Doctor came to the door leading down into the basement. It was an older, wooden one and it had a large padlock fitted upon it. Had he still had his sonic screwdriver, he may have been able to force the lock open with some cleverly tuned sonic frequency. However, he had to rely on more traditional methods here, and from one pocket he withdrew a small metal hair-pin. Sticking it into the keyhole, he began to twist and tease the inner workings of the padlock, hearing a few clicks as he did so. It had been some time since he had last needed to pick open a lock, so his technique here was somewhat rusty. Nonetheless, it finally fell open, and he pulled the padlock out of its housing before placing it onto a shelf on his left, next to an old vase with a sorry looking sunflower sticking out of it. As he pulled open the door, it creaked loudly upon its rusted hinges and the Doctor winced, aware that the noise was loud enough to potentially bring some unwanted attention. He waited a moment, listening out for footsteps and voices, but none could be heard. Slowly, he started down the steps behind the door, closing it shut behind him as quietly as he could.

The air was musty down here and the lighting was dim. In fact, the cellar itself was almost completely dark, save for a few spots of light coming through small, barred windows near the ceiling at one side. Feeling about for a light switch, he did find one by the wall at the bottom the stairs. It activated a trio of light bulbs hanging down the centre of the room, casting yellowish illumination across a pair of old, dusty wooden shelves. There were a few old wine barrels upon them, with a wine-rack at one end that had not seen any real use for what looked to be many years. The Doctor pulled one of the remaining bottles from the shelf, dusting off the label with one hand.

"St. John's Highland Vintage, 1992," the Doctor muttered. "A fine wine, I'd say. Shame it's been forgotten down here."

"Who's there?" A voice, gruff and masculine, sounded from the far end of the cellar. The Doctor, unfazed, put the bottle back into its housing and looked further into the darkness. At the far end, he could make out a lone figure, sitting on a single chair in the corner. A length of chain gleamed in the light from above, connecting the figure to the wall.

"You must be Scales," the Doctor said. He started forwards, stopping two-thirds of the way before he reached up and grabbed one of the hanging light-bulbs by its cable. With that in hand, he tilted it towards the figure, revealing the blue scaly form of Lockwood's finest 'specimen'. "Surely that's not your name, is it?"

"You?" Scales sat back in his chair. Next to him was a bucket, presumably acting as a toilet, and a stack of books was to his left. Light reading, as boredom was no doubt his biggest enemy down here.

"You speak," the Doctor said. He smiled at him. "That's good to hear. I was worried Lockwood might have cut out your vocal chords or something. I wouldn't put that past him."

"Who are you?" Scales asked. He did not sound too pleased. Trust was something he likely had difficulty with, and being met with a complete stranger who was actually _friendly_ towards him had very much taken him by surprise.

"I'm the Doctor. And you, you're a fine looking creature, aren't you?" The Doctor leaned forwards, peering at Lockwood's captive. "What are you? I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with your species…"

"Why do you care?" Scales interrupted. He did not sound too pleased, which was understandable given his circumstances.

"Because I'm here to help," the Doctor replied.

Scales snorted. He did not believe the Doctor, and why should he? His experiences with humans had been mostly negative ever since Lockwood had got hold of him. Judging from the visible scars on his bare chest and arms, the Doctor guessed that he had been beaten and cut-up on numerous occasions. That, or he had had those even before arriving on Earth. From the look of him, he was probably some kind of warrior.

"Why would you help me?" Scales narrowed his gleaming yellow eyes. "What would you achieve by helping me?"

"I'm not just going to let you stay here in the grip of that power-mad lunatic," the Doctor said. "I'm here to free you, dummy. Now get your things…" He trailed off. "Well, whatever 'things' you have and we can get out of here."

Scales did not say anything right away, nor did he move. After a moment, the Doctor rolled his eyes and moved past the alien, finding where the chain was hooked into the wall.

"I would love to be rescued, Doctor," Scales said dryly, "But Lockwood is keeping me under control."

"What do you mean?" The Doctor had been thinking of a way to cut the chain, or at the very least loosen it, when Scales' latest statement struck him as a bit strange.

"He put something in my head," Scales explained. Anger laced his voice, and with one hand it pointed to a scar at the back of his skull. "At the push of a button he can cripple me with pain. And on top of that, he can detonate the small charge and blow my head off. That's why I haven't tried escaping. It's not because I like the accommodation."

The Doctor stepped behind Scales, taking a close look at the scar. It was about two inches across, and so the charge itself must have only been small, likely tightly compressed. Had he his sonic screwdriver, he may have been able to deactivate it. He had more in the TARDIS, and he made a mental note for himself to go back and fetch one.

"If I leave these grounds, cross a 'magic line' as Lockwood likes to call it, the charge will blow." Scales sounded resigned. "Face it, Doctor. I'm stuck here."

"You're never 'stuck' anywhere," the Doctor said, shaking his head. "Now lighten up. I'll think of something." If he could take Scales back to the TARDIS, he would have been able to utilise one of the old medical machines in there and get the implant removed without any real difficulty. Of course, that was not an option. He had no reason to believe that Lockwood was lying about his 'magic line'. It seemed like something Lockwood would set up, to keep his 'pet' in check.

"What's your real name?" The Doctor asked, as he rounded the alien and stepped in front of him. "Come on, don't just stare. Your real name can't be 'Scales', surely?"

"It's Spartus," the alien said.

"Spartus. There we have it. A strong name."

"Spartus of Varona, from Archov Prime."

"Can't say I've heard of the place," the Doctor said. "Better question is; what _time_ are you from?"

"Time?" Spartus smiled at the question. "That is the real issue, isn't it? I knew right away when I came to in the mud that I hadn't just travelled through space."

"How did you travel?" The Doctor wagered a guess at 'vortex manipulator', but Spartus simply shrugged. Not even he was sure of this question.

"You're full of questions, Doctor," Spartus said flatly. "What makes you think I should trust you?"

"I need to know."

"No one 'needs' to know anything," Spartus countered.

"Not even 'look both ways before crossing the street'?" The Doctor paced about in front of him. There had to be something on hand he could use to free Spartus, and even though the alien was not the friendliest sort around, he did not deserve to rot down here. No one did, really. "Let's be real here, Sparty. You're a man out of time and out of place. I can take you back, to wherever and whenever you came from. If I know how you came to be here in the first place, it'll make everything a lot easier."

"You don't want to know about me," Spartus said. "I've had a lot of time to myself down here, and I've had a lot of time to think…"

"Please don't say you deserve this," the Doctor interrupted. He shot Spartus a frown. "Don't be like that, Spartus of Varona. I'm offering you my help, and you're going to get it, whether you like it or not."

Spartus did not reply. The Doctor could see no way to release him, certainly not without the charge in his brain exploding. He would need to work out some way of disabling it or removing it, and he neither had his sonic screwdriver or a scalpel in his possession. By the look of it, he would have to leave Spartus for the time being and return later with the items he needed. Even so, there were questions he wanted answers to, and so far Spartus was really the only one able to provide those answers.

"You don't know how you ended up on Earth?" The Doctor asked.

Spartus shook his head.

"I was on Galva Prime one moment, surrounded by Voord, and then I was out on one of the plains, sprawled in the mud. There isn't much more I can tell you beyond that, Doctor. And it wasn't long before Lockwood found me."

"You didn't have a device, of any sort?" The Doctor asked. "Like something you'd put around your wrist?"

"Not like that." He paused, a thoughtful expression appearing on his rough-hewn features. Something must have occurred to him then, and the Doctor watched him expectantly, waiting for the answer. "There was something I found. I think Lockwood has it upstairs somewhere, locked away in a display case…"

He paused for a moment, seemingly unable to come up with anything more than that. Even so, it was enough for the Doctor to go on, and it was enough for him to start piecing the mystery together.

"Are you going to rescue me or not?" Spartus asked abruptly.

"With the bomb in your head, I can't risk it. Not right now." He looked about the cellar for anything that might be able to help him, but aside from some dusty old wine barrels and several old bottles of wine, there was little else that might have been of any use. "Perhaps an electrical charge…"

He trailed off. Footsteps echoed from the staircase and the Doctor ducked into the shadows of one corner of the room, crouching behind a set of shelves as Ronaldson stepped into view at the bottom of the stairs. Spartus sat down on his chair, doing his best to look as normally bored as he would be, as Ridgefield walked into the cellar.

"Scales, are you alone down here?" Ronaldson stepped cautiously past the shelves, heading for Spartus. He looked about him nervously, as if he expected someone to jump out and hit him. The Doctor remained still in the darkness, watching as Lockwood's assistant approached Spartus, stopping only a few feet from him. Spartus narrowed his eyes, his face taking on a cruel expression as he regarded one of his captors. There was no doubt in the Doctor's mind that Spartus had the desire to kill Ronaldson, and in turn Lockwood, for what they had been doing to him. The only thing keeping him in check was the charge in his brain, a clever and surprisingly sophisticated way for Lockwood to keep his best 'specimen' under control. Without any advanced tools, the Doctor could do little about the implant right now and heading back to the TARDIS, and then back here, carried with it risks of its own. Sneaking in here was not guaranteed to work twice in a row.

"The light's on," Ronaldson stated. Spartus did not reply. Ronaldson looked over the captive, as if trying to find anything out of the ordinary, before he turned around and went for the light switch. Flicking it, the room became almost pitch black, with Spartus' orange eyes shining brightly. The Doctor could hardly see a thing now, but he remained still as Ronaldson started back up the stairs. Of course, Ronaldson was going to lock the door from the outside, and without anything to force it open the Doctor would be trapped down here. Rising to his feet, he started up the staircase after Ronaldson, leaving Spartus for another time. There was no chance to bid farewell, not when Ronaldson was about to lock the door on him. He rushed up the stairs, pushing the door open hard enough for it to hit Ronaldson in the face. The man yelped and stumbled backwards, clutching his nose as he fell against the nearby wall, the padlock falling from his grasp.

The Doctor kept moving now, heading back the way he had come, through the kitchen and out of the window. He did not wish to leave Spartus behind, but it was so far the only option he had. As for his escape now, he was able to get back across the large backyard before the alarm was raised, Ronaldson apparently having recovered enough to shout for the guards to take action. By the time they were outside on a search, the Doctor was long gone, heading back across the plains and well out of the reach of any of Lockwood's men.

* * *

"This is it?" Lockwood did not know what to make of what was in front of him. Still, he had found out enough about the Doctor to know what to look for, and his hired help might have been a bit perplexed by his orders at first. Still, now they had no reason to be, as the Doctor's blue box certainly did exist, and it had been sitting in the middle of an empty field next to the town. The Doctor had not been trying to hide it; presumably he was confident enough that he would not need to.

The box itself, an old-fashioned blue police box from the 1950s and 1960s, sat on the back of a flatbed truck on its side, held down by a number of straps. The flatbed had come to a stop at the rear of the old fortress, and Lockwood had come out to take a look, if only to satisfy his own curiosity. There did not appear to be much to it, and the doors were locked tight so it was not simply a matter of going in and taking a look around. Just what could be inside it, anyway? By certain accounts, this box was capable of travelling through time and space. The appearance certainly did not indicate as much, and it looked more like a collector's item than a time machine. All the better for Lockwood, then, as something like this could be added to his collection. It had the right amount of mysterious appeal to make a good display item. Of course, it would be even better if they could get inside…

"What is it?" Ridgefield asked, walking to a stop beside him. They were outside, on a mostly bare gravel lot near the cliff-face. A strong wind buffeted them, coming in from the sea. Waves crashed harshly against the rocks below. "Looks like an old phone box to me."

"It's the Doctor's time machine," Lockwood replied.

Ridgefield scoffed.

"Ancient Earth reptiles I can accept, but a time machine? Surely, Captain, you must be mistaken. The Doctor is simply a professor of science, not some sort of time traveller."

Despite having a PhD, Ridgefield could be awfully thick sometimes. Lockwood turned to him, gritting his teeth in frustration.

"Did you not hear a word of what I told you earlier, Ridgefield?" Lockwood asked, giving the man a funny look. "Surely you cannot be so thick as to believe that the Doctor was genuine with his credentials? The man's a liar, and this much is evident from the records I've found on him. He's a liar and a troublemaker, he has made it his mission to interfere in business he has no right to do so. Why do you think he's here? He came here to mess with my work, so in turn I intend to mess with him. This machine of his, it is capable of time travel, that much I know. It's how he gets about, Ridgefield, don't you see?"

"I'm afraid I don't, Captain," Ridgefield replied, unfazed or simply oblivious to Lockwood's frustration. "It's a police box. Nothing about it says 'time machine' to me?"

"Were you expecting a big spinning thing on the back of a chair?"

"That would at least look the part," Ridgefield said.

"It's camouflage, isn't it?" Lockwood suggested. "It can't look like a time machine, Ridgefield, because if it did everybody would try and steal it. Now, if it looks as unassuming as it does, then no one's really going to bother trying to steal it, are they?"

"Maybe. But if this is really some kind of time machine, I'll believe it when I see it in action."

Lockwood rolled his eyes. Ridgefield had not seen the records he had, so it was somewhat forgivable if the man was a bit oblivious to the truth. Even so, if he seriously believed that the Doctor was a genuine doctor, then Ridgefield may very well be one of the thickest people he knew. And all this from a certified professor of archaeology? Lockwood was beginning to rethink his hiring practices.

"The Doctor will be back for his machine," Lockwood said. "You can count on that. He'll be back for his machine because it's his only way out of here. If we can get the doors open, then I'd be able to show you the truth, Ridgefield. The man we're dealing with is not of this world."

"He looks pretty human to me."

"That doesn't make him one of us, does it?" Lockwood walked up to the unassuming police box, lying on its side on the back of the flatbed. He put a hand to it, startled by how warm it was to the touch. It was the sort of warmth one might expect if they put their hand to a living creature. The air all around was bordering on freezing cold, yet for some reason this blue box with its sealed doors retained its warmth. That was indeed fascinating, and was proof enough that it was no regular police box. Besides, how effective would that camouflage be, in the twenty-first century?

"What are you going to do with it, Captain?" Ridgefield asked. He scratched at his chin thoughtfully, as if trying to make sense of everything he had been told. "Because I don't know how useful an outdated phone box is going to be for our dig."

"It'll bring the Doctor to us," Lockwood replied, taking his hand away from the machine. "I don't think he can do much without his precious time machine. Indeed, I think he might be utterly lost without it."

From somewhere nearby, the sound of a car's engine became audible, increasing in volume as its carrier neared. Lockwood glanced at Ridgefield, smiling once he realised who it may be.

"That'll be our genuine doctor," Lockwood said.


	11. Surgery

**Surgery**

It was not the first time that Lockwood had called on the use of a specialist such as Yvonne Krieger. The last time he had needed her help was when he had found two alien specimens on the moors of Scotland. Granted, it was not in Yvonne's interest to ask too many questions, so she had done her job as she had been hired to do and moved on, aware that the tissue-healing enzyme that had been discovered in the alien's blood would be developed for public use over the next several years and that Yvonne, as a reward for her services, would share in a healthy cut of the profits such a thing would make. It would certainly make for more of a monetary reward than what she was making now, at the research institute where she was currently working.

She was a woman of thirty-four, tall and slim, with light brown hair that was tied back in a bunch and a set of glasses that gave her a serious, but certainly intelligent, appearance. Arriving at the fortress, she was immediately doubtful of the state of the facilities here, but when she saw the large tent beyond the fortress' outer walls she found that her doubts were alleviated somewhat. Lockwood came out to greet her, along with some archaeologist named Ridgefield, who uttered a few words in greeting while Lockwood did most of the talking.

"Doctor Krieger, so glad you could make it," Lockwood said. They stood within the walls of the fortress, in the muddy open courtyard between the outer wall and the inner keep. "I knew you wouldn't pass up this opportunity."

"Of course not, Captain," Krieger replied. "You found actual humanoid reptiles underground? I wouldn't believe it, had anyone else told me."

"You can always trust me, doctor," Lockwood said. He gestured to the large green tent near the inner keep. "Follow me. I'll show you to our facilities. Temporary as they are, I think they are more than adequate."

The large green tent had been converted into a laboratory environment, complete with a simple decontamination chamber before the entrance. Passing through a spray of sterilising white smoke that smelled of antiseptic, Lockwood took Krieger into the tent. Here, all manner of medical equipment had been set up, with a proper metal floor in place and a guard standing at one corner. This was probably necessary, given the creature that was strapped to the surgical table. Tall and broad-shouldered, it had been stripped of its armour, which lay bundled up in one corner. The creature itself was alive and awake, it large yellow eyes looking to the pair as they came in. The angry snarl it gave seemed to be directed at Lockwood, who only smiled in response.

"He's a bit talkative, this one," Lockwood commented. "A fine specimen if I ever saw it. None of the damage that was on the last one."

"And how is the other one?" Krieger asked.

"He's fine. He helps around the house. Rather grateful for it, I'd say."

Krieger put her bag aside and found a blue surgical gurney hanging at the wall. She knew the drill by now, and she placed it over her front before finding a surgical mask on a table nearby that she placed over her chin. Lockwood retained his smile as he stopped next to the very conscious specimen, and it visibly tried to force its way through the straps to get to him. Its fingers each had a short claw at the end, and it appeared likely that it would be able to slash up anyone it did not like, and so far Lockwood seemed to be the one it hated the most.

"He's full of energy," Lockwood said, looking down at it. "He talks as well. Go on, say something. Show the good doctor here what you're made of."

"I will kill you," it hissed. Judging from the look of it, Krieger assumed it was male. A closer inspection revealed as much, although the sexual organs in this case were behind a protective pouch of sorts. Its skin was rough and ridged in places, more akin to a fish than a land reptile. At its neck she took note of the gills visible there, classing the creature as an 'amphibian' of sorts.

"You found this underground?" She asked Lockwood.

"Indeed. There are hundreds of them down there, in suspended animation." Lockwood turned to face her. "This one, I believe, is their leader. The first one to be woken up."

"Hundreds, you say?" Krieger had a bit of difficulty accepting this claim. That many intelligent walking lizards sounded like it would be trouble. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"They're all in suspended animation," Lockwood answered. "There isn't enough power down there to wake them all up, certainly not without sacrificing a large percentage of their number. We simply stumbled onto this fellow by pure chance." He paused, mulling over the topic for a moment, all the while the creature glared at him. Krieger wondered how it felt, tied up and naked, likely the most vulnerable it had ever been. Then again, she was not being paid to feel anything for it, and why should she? She could hardly have sympathy for a non-human creature like this. Then again, she did not have much sympathy for any of the creatures she cut open as part of her job, and this was what this was, after all; just another job for her, a better paid one at that.

"So, the whole situation is under control, I take it?" Krieger stepped over to the trolley at the end of the surgical table. There was the usual assortment of implements here, including scalpels, a small cutting tool with a circular blade, a pair of sleek looking scissors and so on. She took up one of the scalpels, pleased to see that it had recently been washed thoroughly and sterilised. Lockwood had prepared everything, and he was the sort of man who liked to cover all his bases, thereby limiting the potential for something to take him off-guard. It was probably the reason why he had been so successful in his ventures, and it was only by luck that Krieger had caught his eye in the first place.

"No anaesthetic, I take it?" She asked, glancing at him.

"There's no telling what that might do to this fellow's physiology," Lockwood said. "Still, you are the expert on these matters, so I'll leave the final decision to you."

"You're right, of course," Krieger said, looking back down at the creature. It was watching her now, its yellow eyes blazing with what she could only assume was hatred. Did it know what was coming? Most certainly. If it was smart enough to talk, it was smart enough to know what she was about to do.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Lockwood said. "Be sure to report everything you find. And, if possible, try to keep this fellow alive for as long as you can. A dead specimen is hardly helpful, is it?"

"I'll do what I can." Krieger could not guarantee anything, when working on something this far from human. She knew her way around a human body, it was her job to, but for something like this there would be a fair amount of poking and prodding, all the while she would attempt to map out its anatomy. There were computers here to help her do so. It was practically an honour, to be the first to dissect a creature such as this, recently discovered as it was. She put aside any thoughts of potential fame and set her mind on the task at hand, lifting the surgical mask over her nose and mouth as she did so. Looking down, the creature began to press against its binds again, but to no avail. She had no doubt that it carried a great deal of strength in its body, but not enough to free it. She wondered, briefly, how long it would stay conscious before the shock became too much and it practically shut down? Very few living creatures could survive a vivisection for long.

Lockwood strode out of the room, leaving Krieger alone with the creature, with a single guard for company. He stood in the far corner near the entrance, watching her as she put the scalpel down to the creature's chest. As soon as the blade began to cut through the flesh, the creature began to snarl, attempting to thrash about. It could hardly move as it was, and Krieger found that she had to saw through a thick layer of skin to reach the more sensitive tissue underneath. Dark red blood seeped out around the scalpel, as she gradually drew the incision down across the creature's chest. It began to shout, its guttural voice a mix of English and some bizarre alien tongue. As such, she could only catch a few words here and there, mainly ones telling her that she would "die" for what she was doing. It even called her "cattle" at one point, which struck her as a bit strange, but after a few minutes the creature's energy seemed to dissipate and it fell back, head lulling to one side while its eyes rolled back into its head. By now she had cut a line down the front of its torso, blood trickling off to either side and smearing all over her gloved hands. Adding a few extra lengths to the main incision, she gradually pried open the flaps of flesh, revealing the creature's rib-cage and the still pulsing organs underneath. Even at a glance, she was surprised by its similarity to human anatomy. Granted, there were a few notable differences, but overall the layout was very similar.

Lockwood had not cleared her to remove any organs, so for now she would content herself with simply mapping out what anatomy she could. It was by far the most fascinating creature she had seen so far, and back at the research centre she had cut open all sorts of Earthly creatures. This one was new, though perhaps not as exotic as the alien that Lockwood had brought her in to cut open some months ago. There was much to learn from this one, if what she was seeing was any indication.

Someone like her could not afford any emotional attachment. As such, some would have labelled Krieger as 'cold'. Perhaps she was, she would certainly admit as much, but it was a requirement for the sort of research she did. Some would have considered it 'inhumane'. She had no time for such labels, she had worked hard to get to where she was now and she had learned so much about all manner of creatures on Earth, knowledge that would only benefit humanity. That was what she had always wanted to do, and by finding out everything she could about this potentially dangerous specimen before her, she would only be further benefiting the human race in general. Inhumane or not, someone had to do it and she was more than content to be that someone.

The computers and scanners dotted about the room recorded what she did, all the while gradually building a three-dimensional model of the creature and its anatomy. It took a load off of Krieger's shoulders, and ensured that she would not require any assistants to do it for her. Computer technology had come a long way, and someone like Lockwood could afford the more sophisticated stuff. It took her a little while, but she felt she had managed to get a good idea of what kind of anatomy this creature had, all the while its heart continued to beat. A hardy specimen for sure, and she resisted the urge to pull out anything that looked important.

* * *

"A number of the alternate exits have caved in," Havartiss said. He regarded the display in front of him, while Gasrava and one other of his brethren stood a few paces behind him. The whole facility was gradually falling apart, which was to be expected given how long they had slept. The computer systems had done their best to keep things running, but there was only so much that it could do on a dwindling power supply. Now there were hundreds of their own still in stasis, requiring a jump-start to awake. Others had perished during their sleep, their pods life support systems having failed completely. At least, in that sense, it made for a painless and peaceful death.

The female standing behind him, slimly built with less pronounced fins, spoke next.

"We should send out scouting parties," she replied. Her name was Livakresh, and she was one of the few female warriors who had been placed in stasis in the facility. They were a rare breed, usually relegated to support roles in combat. One issue Havartiss had discovered, after running some diagnostics with Gasrava, was the lack of females in general that were in stasis. If they expected to propagate their species and repopulate the Earth, then females were very much a necessity. Contacting any other facility was out of the question. Their communications systems had long ceased to function and it was unlikely any facilities in broadcasting range would reply. Some might have been long buried, or had been destroyed in natural disasters. The Earth's continents had shifted during the time they had been asleep, which would explain some of the damage the facility had received over the years. Parts of the floor had shifted entirely, causing great gashes through the metal framework and severing power conduits. They had never been intended to be in use for so long, and Havartiss knew that the fault lay at the ones who had programmed the computers and designed the machines.

They had miscalculated, and as a result many of their own had died and the world above was no longer theirs. He turned to Gasrava, who had been attempting to get some of the other equipment working. Judging from the frustrated huffing noises he was making, it appeared that he was having very little success.

"Tell me, oh great scientist," Havartiss said, as he turned to Gasrava. He made his disdain clear in his voice. "How did it happen?"

"How did what happen?" Gasrava looked up warily, as if he knew what was coming.

"How did we oversleep so long?"

"From what I can gather, there was an oversight."

"An _oversight?_ " Havartiss practically spat the words, his anger exploding out of him at that moment. Gasrava visibly winced and took a step back from the fuming Commander. "You can hardly call this an _oversight!_ We have been asleep for millions of years! The fact that the apes found us down here is through pure chance. By all accounts we should be dead, this whole place decayed into a rusty hollow."

"Our engineers clearly knew what they were doing…"

Havartiss stepped forwards, suddenly closing in on the anxious scientist. He grabbed him by the neck, before throwing him against the nearest wall and pinning him there. Livakresh watched, the Sea Devil equivalent of a smile appearing on her face.

"You fool," Havartiss said. "No wonder it all went wrong, because we entrusted ones such as yourself to ensure the future of our people. Now the apes rule the surface, and we are reduced to a mere handful. Is this what you wanted for us, Gasrava? You and your scientists, is this what you all wanted?"

"I'm sorry," Gasrava rasped, struggling to get a breath past Havartiss' vice-like grip. "There was nothing we could have done…"

Havartiss let go of him, allowing Gasrava to drop to the floor gasping for air. He turned to Livakresh, who twitched her head fins eagerly. She had no doubt been entertained by Havartiss' display of authority. It was one way to catch the attention of a female.

"What do we do now, Commander?" She asked him. "Do you have a plan? After all, in the Field Marshall's absence, you are in command."

"We will scout the surface," Havartiss said. "There is an alternate exit further north. As for the structure above us, I believe that is where the apes may have taken the Field Marshall. It would be dangerous to launch a head-on rescue mission."

"It almost sounds as if you don't want to rescue the Field Marshall."

"I am as loyal to the Field Marshall as you are, Livakresh," Havartiss countered. He kept his tone level, careful to prevent any such accusation from having an audible effect on his demeanour. He did not know just how loyal Livakresh and the others were, but as the second-in-command he was supposed to be supportive of whatever the Field Marshall wanted. "But we simply do not have the numbers as yet to launch a rescue mission. There is no telling what the apes might have built in terms of weaponry, and just how intelligent they may be. They know about us now, and that means we may only have a short time before they decide to come back down here. As a result, we must conduct our next course of action very carefully."

"Indeed, Commander," Livakresh said. "We would not want the apes to strike us now, when we are at our most vulnerable."

Havartiss turned to Gasrava, who had risen to his feet and was trying to compose himself after the chokehold.

"Tell me, scientist," Havartiss said, with some disdain in his voice. "How many of our people can we raise from suspended animation?"

"With our current power levels?" Gasrava slowly shook his head. "Very few. A sudden awakening can provide enough of a shock to the system to kill one of our own, and what little power we have is only able to keep our people alive in the barest sense of the term. I can probably attempt some limited number of revivals, but that will drain our power reserves and may affect the rest of our brethren still in their pods."

"We need soldiers. Bring out those you can, and if the power reserves do begin to dwindle any more than they have, cease doing so."

Gasrava nodded slowly. He went to the main control panel and began to tap away at the keys. The display across the viewport flickered sporadically, a symptom of the failing power. Havartiss turned to Livakresh.

"Gather those who are awake," Havartiss ordered. "We will commence with the scouting operation. We must find out everything we can about the apes and how much they have evolved."

Livakresh snapped off a quick salute before turning around and leaving the room. There was only a handful of them awake now, perhaps seven in total including Gasrava. Of course, Havartiss had no intention of bringing the scientist along on any scouting mission. He would have to stay here and keep the facility working, while Havartiss sought another source of power they could utilise to wake up their brethren. They could very well be the last of their kind, and so their actions today could determine the future of their race. If Havartiss was to lead them in this new, uncertain era, he would do just that and he would do everything he could to ensure the survival of his people. It was his duty, what he had been raised to do ever since he was a mere fledgling.

* * *

"Oh, no, no, no."

There was a suspiciously square-shaped impression in the mud where the TARDIS had been. There was also a set of tire tracks going away from it, and a number of boot-prints around them. The Doctor stood looking at all this, with a mix of shock and annoyance on his face. Someone had snatched up the TARDIS, and very recently. He did not have to guess as to who. It became obvious where he would have to go to rectify the situation.

Just how much did Lockwood know about him? A man like that, with the money to do what he wanted, had probably bought all the information he could get about the Doctor. That meant he could very well have access to everything UNIT might have on him, which was more information than most humans ever found about the Doctor. It was a worrisome thought, but the disappearance of the TARDIS did make a cruel sort of sense. Lockwood would know that he would need his machine, and had taken it likely with the intention of luring the Doctor back to him. Well, it was going to work like a charm, and it would not be the first time the Doctor had willingly walked into a trap.

If Lockwood wanted him, he would get him, but on _his_ terms. The Doctor would confront the man again, and he would do whatever he could to correct the mistake he had made. Had he taken the time to learn more about Lockwood he might have thought twice about opening the way into the Sea Devil base. As it stood, there was a situation brewing that could very well turn into a disaster, and the least he could do was attempt to prevent it from getting to such a point. Also, Lockwood had something of his that he wanted back.

As for Spartus, the alien prisoner would have to wait. The Doctor knew he could deactivate the charge in his head, even with just a sonic screwdriver. He simply needed to get that tool back as well. Just what had he gotten himself into, getting involved with Lockwood? It was as if the man knew everything about him, and not just in the annoying and somewhat creepy way UNIT did.

"All right, Lockwood," the Doctor said aloud, to no one in particular. He turned around and started back across the muddy plain, heading for the nearby road. "If you want to play a game, I'll play. I'll play it right back at you."


	12. Breakout

**Breakout**

Pain. That was all he could feel. It wracked his entire form, sharp, stinging, burning pain that made him writhe and groan, for lack of any other noise he could make. As he opened his eyes, his world was filled with blinding white light, though his eyes adjusted quickly. It was one of the small bonuses of being what he was, as his species were blessed with excellent eyesight. His vision cleared and above him he found himself looking straight up at an artificial light fitting, hanging from a ceiling of a large green tent of sorts. A coppery smell hit his nostrils then, and he realised that it was the smell of blood, specifically _his_ blood. Looking down at himself, only able to tilt his head forwards slightly, he could see a long stitched incision down his chest, and a number of small ones branching off of it. Someone had cut him wide open, and as he looked at the grisly sight the memory of the procedure came flooding back in a flash.

He had woken up, dazed and confused much like he was now, and he had fallen from his stasis pod. When he had come to, he had been here, with one of the evolved apes standing over him in some sort of surgical garb. She, he was certain it had been a female, had proceeded to cut him wide open all the while he had been awake and able to feel it. Even for an experienced combat veteran, the pain had become too much, sending him into shock and unconsciousness after about a minute. Now Field Marshall Karva was awake, and he recalled briefly speaking to one of the humans. An older one, a male, in beige-coloured clothing. He had presumed this one was in charge, and he may have been right, but he had been able to learn very little before the 'procedure' had started.

How long had his people slept? It had been far too long, if the apes had evolved as far as they had, with technology that looked to be close to what his people had constructed. Was the whole planet like this? Were these apes everywhere? How many of his people had they captured and experimented on, or was he the only one? Regardless, the fury building within him threatened to explode out of him. To be humiliated like this, reduced to such vulnerability undignified for someone of his station, it was obscene. The apes had even had the gall to strip him of his armour, leaving him tied to a surgical bench, naked and powerless.

One of them, a male in a grey uniform, stood in the far corner of the room near the entrance. This one had muttered something into a device in his ear, some sort of communications earpiece, though without the translation protocols in his armour the human's words sounded like gibberish. Presumably he was reporting Karva's awakening to his superiors, which meant he may only have moments before more apes came in. They might not have expected him to survive the procedure, so the fact that he had would provide a scientific curiosity to them. He needed to get out of here, and with his left arm he slowly slid it up under its straps as to place one claw against the strap at his wrist. It would take time, but he was sure he could cut through it. The strap itself was made of some sort of synthetic material, firm and flexible, yet his claws did manage to start working their way through it.

Where were his people? How many more had woken up? Surely there were others out there, perhaps captives of the apes as well? He had to find out, he was their leader after all, it was practically his duty to know. As it stood, he had to get out of here, before the apes experimented on him further. What he did know for sure was that these creatures would pay dearly for this humiliation. Clearly the planet had survived whatever catastrophe the scientists had predicted, if the apes were as advanced as they were. It was disgusting, really, to see their former livestock like this. The whole situation was like some sort of horrible nightmare, but he knew that it was very real. Being in suspended animation for so long might have given someone dreams, but he knew reality when he saw it and no amount of doubt would help him here. Actions would help him, and he had always been a man of action.

As the strap around his left wrist gradually gave way, he found he could move his hand up further, tearing the strap completely asunder. With this hand free, he reached across himself and undone the one holding down his right arm. At this point the human guard saw what he was doing and raised its weapon. It began yelling at him, but the language was lost on him as the human approached. It took a step too close and Karva, now able to sit up, reached out in a flash and grabbed the ape's weapon. He pulled it towards him before plunging his free-hand into its neck, claws ripping into flesh and severing the arteries there, spurting blood over his chest and hands while the guard choked and gargled. Snatching the weapon out of the creature's failing grip, he let the guard fall to the floor, blood gushing out of the jagged tears at its throat. Karva undid the rest of his straps, each movement sending pain shooting down his form. His incisions hurt considerably, and he found that he was unsteady on his feet as he lowered himself off of the bench.

Nearby, his armour and under-suit had been bunched up in one corner. He put aside the guard's primitive firearm and quickly outfitted himself in his armour. He looked down at the dead ape, feeling little for a gloried piece of livestock, before he finished applying his armour and took up the weapon again. It was apparent how it operated, akin to early firearms that his own people had once used, centuries before his time.

He approached the entrance, huddling along as his body protested. The strain of the experiments had left him feeling weak, and each step he took was a struggle. Slowly, he passed through the decontamination chamber at the entrance of the large tent, before the glass door ahead slid open and he was able to reach forwards and zip open the front. The first thing that struck him about outside was how cold it was; a chilly breeze wafted into the tent that made him shiver. His armour would keep him fairly warm, but it was the kind of cold he was not used to. The world had changed a great deal, certainly in this part of the world. Of course, the continents would have shifted considerably over the years he had spent asleep, and though the base may have been buried underneath a tropical region to begin with, it had somehow ended up underneath a place he could only assume was close to a polar cap. The sky above was filled with thick grey clouds and the air smelled of mud and moisture. Rain was on its way, likely a common occurrence in these parts. Underfoot, the ground was sloshy and muddy.

Emerging from the tent, Karva leaned back against the doorway, doubled over in pain as it seared along his torso. He would find the humans that had done this to him, he would make sure of that. They would pay dearly for the humiliation and the torture. For now, he would have to find his way back down to the base. A quick look around showed that he was within some kind of old stone structure, one that was falling apart in places and with a thin layer of moss over many of the surfaces.

Karva stood up straight, clutching the crude projectile weapon in his hands. It was no beam rifle, or heat pistol, but it was functionally simple, something he could find some appeal in. All he had to do was find his way to the facility. A guard appeared up ahead, rounding the corner of the tent. He seemed shocked to see Karva up on his feet, likely having figured the Earth Reptile to be dead or at the very least contained.

Karva started towards him, weapon raised. It was enough to cause the guard to lower his own, as Karva closed the distance between them quickly. As soon as he was close enough, he grabbed the guard by the neck and pushed him against the side of the tent.

"The facility entrance," Karva barked in his face. "Where is it?"

The ape's eyes widened in terror. He looked about to say something, so Karva eased his grip on the neck somewhat.

"Tell me," Karva hissed, pressing his claws against the ape's jugular.

"In the keep," the human croaked. "Down a set of stairs. You…you can't miss it."

Karva, satisfied with the answer, crudely head-butted the human. His nose broke under the blow with a subdued _crunch_ and the man fell unconscious, allowing Karva to let go and simply let him slide down the side of the tent. The keep, Karva figured, was the central building. Sea Devil fortresses had had something similar, back when his people had been the dominant species.

 _Just how long have we slept?_ He hardly had time to think about that now. The apes were everywhere, and they would be out to kill him if they saw him. Going by what the ape had told him, he made his way into the central building, doing his best to remain upright despite the pain that wracked his form. The most he could manage was some hobbling, occasionally stopping to lean against a wall to compose himself. Ignoring the pain was something he had been taught from a young age, as every warrior was taught, but in practice it did not work as well as his teachers thought. Still, he pressed on, entering the ancient structure. All manner of old relics were on tables in the lobby here, and presumably the apes had been digging up the place to uncover such old treasures. It was what had taken them down to the facility, where they had found his people. Where they had naturally stuck their filthy noses in and taken him to be experimented upon, so soon after waking up.

Going down a flight of steps, he stopped at the halfway point, if only briefly. He could hear footsteps coming his way, from below, so he remained still as the human guard causing them came into view. He seemed to stumble when he saw Karva, momentarily taken up with sheer shock at the sight of the creature. Karva did not hesitate to raise the projectile weapon with one hand, pulling the trigger as he did. The weapon kicked in his grip and the sound of the rapid valley of shots reverberated loudly within the confines of the stairwell: it was almost deafening and Karva found his ears ringing in short order, whilst the human guard stumbled and fell back down the stairs, smearing blood in his wake. Karva continued moving, as the noise would have been loud enough to draw attention to him. The cellar he came to lead to a further set of downwards stairs, leading through an open iron gate and into a large cavern. Here, he was overcome with the smell of seawater, the kind of smell he associated with home. He was close, he simply had to find the way in. Judging by the activity around here, the apes would likely be concentrated around the entrance, presumably in an effort to unlock whatever secrets the facility held. He would make sure to stop them from doing so, even in his weakened state. It was his duty to protect his people, and he had no wish to see them taken by the apes as specimens to be used in brutal experimentation.

Further through the caverns, Karva came to a deeper chamber where a pair of guards were on patrol. A few workers were here as well, and the facility entrance was set into one dug-out alcove. The apes had been digging here, and simply by chance they had stumbled upon one entrance into the facility. It appeared to be sealed from where he stood, but there would be other ways inside.

He came to rest for a moment behind some boulders. Taking a few deep breaths, he could feel a stickiness under his armour plating at his chest. He had started bleeding from the incisions, the stress of the physical exertion likely having caused some of the stitches to break. If he could get into the facility, he would get the medical attention he needed.

Behind him, he could hear shouting. Someone had obviously found the body of the guard he had gunned down. The other people here became alert, and the two guards ahead readied their weapons and began to move forwards. Karva stepped out from behind the rock, clutching the rapid-fire weapon one-handed as he swept a hail of bullets across the two guards. The weapon proved a bit hard to control, even with his strength, and a number of the rounds flew wide, hitting the rock wall further behind him where each impact tore a chunk out of the stone, causing small eruptions of dust. The pinging of ricochets sounded out as several rounds bounced off of the hard surface and went flying every which way. Nonetheless, both guards fell, small spurts of blood erupting at each impact their bodies received. The weapon Karva held suddenly stopped firing, making clicking noises instead with each pull of the trigger. Presumably it had run out of ammunition, and with no spares in reach he threw it aside and started for the door. The workers here had wisely started to run, while the bodies of the two guards lay riddled with bloody holes nearby, blood pooling around them all and trickling across the rocks underfoot. Karva thumped upon the door, as it did not open automatically as it should have. The sensors within should have detected him, but they had likely stopped working after all this time spent buried and inactive.

He banged upon it again. Someone had to hear him. He cannot have been the only one to wake up, and surely not the only one to have survived the long sleep. As if Dagon himself had answered his prayers, the door did slide open, moving slowly in its housing, grinding on an ancient and rusted mechanism as it did so. Behind it stood Havartiss, the young second-in-command whom he had come to rely on, and he appeared surprised. Karva stumbled through the doorway, steadying himself against the wall for a moment, opening the armour at his chest before lifting up a flap of the under-suit. It was sticky with blood underneath.

"Field Marshall, it is pleasing to see you alive." Havartiss put an arm around his superior's shoulders, helping him onto his feet. "You require medical attention. Please, come with me."

"These apes, Commander," Karva hissed. Normally he might have refused the help, for it was a showing of weakness, but at this point he did not care. The circumstances were well outside of normal, and extraordinary times often lead to more unusual things occurring. "They are vicious, barbaric. Much like their ancestors were, when we reigned dominant over them."

"I supposed as much, Field Marshall." Havartiss took him to the control room, where Gasrava, the facility's chief scientist, was waiting.

"They are weak," Karva continued. He could not think as properly as he had been before, as the pain had reached a point where he could barely concentrate through it. "Commander, we have to wake the others. Wake as many of our people as we can. The apes cut me open to find out more about us. They will use that knowledge against us, you know that. They have to be stopped, before they wipe us out."

"That is much the same as I was thinking." Havartiss spoke in a level tone, his concern for his Field Marshall a façade that at any other time Karva would have been able to see through right away. However, he was in no state to think clearly, and Havartiss' false concern sounded all the more believable to his wounded Field Marshall. "We have been attempting to wake our brethren, but our power levels are diminishing. I shall be sending scouting parties out of any available exits…"

"Do what you must." Both Havartiss and Gasrava helped him down onto a bench in the corner. Gasrava removed the armour at his chest, a disgusted look appearing on his face as he saw the crudely stitched incisions across his form. "I want our army back on its feet as soon as possible. And I want every weapon we have here readied to be put to use against the savages above. Is that understood?"

Havartiss nodded.

"Yes, Field Marshall. It will be done." He snapped off a quick salute. Gasrava, meanwhile, motioned to the corridor nearby.

"He needs proper medical treatment," he said to Havartiss. "Help me take him to the infirmary."

Havartiss did so, even if, deep down, he had hoped never to see the Field Marshall again. Still, he had not been able to simply leave him outside in the cavern. Gasrava had seen the feed from outside that entrance and he had seen the Field Marshall through it, doubled over with pain. It had been Havartiss' duty to rescue his commanding officer, and Gasrava would not have let him do otherwise, even if he was just a scientist. It was likely because the Field Marshall had always thought highly of scientists like Gasrava, whereas Havartiss had little trust for them and much disdain. They were, after all, the people who designed these bases. They were very much the cause for their predicament now.

For a very long time, Havartiss had been second-in-command to Karva. He wished for that to change, though he could not necessarily enact that change himself. He had a grudging respect for the Field Marshall, so it seemed unlikely that even he could bring himself to kill him. Still, something had to be done, especially after what had happened now, with the Field Marshall cut open and unable to talk straight, overcome with the lust for vengeance which would likely impair his tactical judgement. For now, Havartiss would have to tolerate the Field Marshall's presence and command, but sooner or later something had to give. He could probably rely on the apes to do something for that. 

* * *

Lockwood had been at home in his study when the breakout had occurred. The call had come down at about noon, when he had been about to order the cook to prepare lunch. He had felt like steak, preferably filet, but that idea was dashed when one of the guards from the fortress site called in and explained what had happened. The Sea Devil in captivity had woken up and escaped down into the dig site, killing a few guards as it went. The news was a bit of a shock to Lockwood, as he had expected that the creature would be in no shape to stage any kind of escape attempt, let alone a successful one.

Nonetheless, the shock wore off quickly. He had ordered an increase in security and that the way into the underground facility be locked down. The door had apparently opened, this time from the inside, to allow the escaped Sea Devil into the underground facility. It seemed he did not even need the Doctor to get in, not that this made his desire to capture the Doctor any less significant. The man, if you could really call him that, was a renowned troublemaker. Letting him go the first time around had been a mistake, driven by the notion that the likes of UNIT might pounce on his operation if any harm came to the Doctor. Of course, he had found that there was little even UNIT could do to stop him. A few calls here, a few bribes elsewhere, and he would be able to keep UNIT off of his back indefinitely.

Krieger had been most illuminating with the report she had made, after performing the operation on the now escaped Sea Devil. They were much like typical reptiles, albeit warm-blooded and bipedal, with intelligence to match any human and somewhat greater physical strength. Their leathery hides were tough enough to stop small calibre rounds, and their armour would certainly add to that durability. Still, there was only so much Krieger could learn without taking out a bunch of internal organs. This would have been the next step, after they had acquired more specimens. Now, though, Lockwood would have to rethink his whole plan.

He cancelled lunch and instead headed downstairs. Here, Spartus was carrying a number of wooden crates from a truck outside. A delivery of exotic goods from overseas, and Spartus made for an excellent labourer. He eyed Lockwood as the man went past, and there may have been some definite hatred in that gaze. It did not bother Lockwood much. Spartus could wish him dead as much as he wanted, there was little he could do to fulfil that wish as long as the implant in his skull kept functioning. The most essential thing about that implant was not the pain it caused Spartus, pain that Lockwood could inflict at the push of a button, but the fact that within its coding somewhere was a protocol that ensured that if Lockwood's vitals ever failed, the explosive charge would detonate. If by some miracle Spartus killed him, then he would not live long enough to celebrate his victory. Naturally Lockwood had kept this information from him, but the old man could feel somewhat at ease with Spartus, no matter what he did to the alien. Some may have called him cruel, but really, Spartus was an alien. What rights did he have on Earth? None, last he had checked. The UN had not drafted any laws regarding aliens and how to treat them. None that he knew of, anyway.

Lockwood called for his driver and Ronaldson appeared on the front porch.

"I need to get to the fortress," he said, as the pair started for his car. "There's been trouble and I think I should be there to help rein it in."

"Of course, Captain." Ronaldson opened one of the doors for him, allowing Lockwood to sit down in the spacious and luxury interior. Moving to the driver's seat, Ronaldson sat down and started the engine. Lockwood took the phone off of the wall nearby, tapping in a tried-and-true number, before putting it to his ear. What time would it be in the United States? Not too far off their own, he would imagine.

There were a few rings before the connection was picked up.

"Henry, old bean, it's Lockwood again." He turned his head slightly, watching as Ronaldson took the car through the front gate of the estate's perimeter. "I've got the finding of a lifetime on my hands, but it looks like there may be trouble. And you were right about that Doctor, definite troublemaker. I have to thank you for the information you provided, it was most helpful."


	13. How to Start Wars and Alienate Species

**How to Start Wars and Alienate Species**

The Doctor was not expecting a warm welcome at the fortress. That, and he was sure he was walking right into a trap, one that Lockwood knew he could not resist going straight into. And he was right, of course.

Just how much did Lockwood know about him? That was one question that danced about in the Doctor's mind, as he approached the main gate set into the perimeter fence. The guard there was one from earlier, a youngish man with dark blonde hair, and he recognized the Doctor right away.

Smiling at him, the Doctor stood in front of the gate, narrowing his eyes towards the guard.

"Don't just stare, it's rude" he said. "Open the gate. Let me in. I want to speak to the man in charge." He kept smiling, even as the guard pointed his gun at him. "Or, as they say, 'take me to your leader'."

The guard spoke rapidly into his personal headset, and presumably the response was an affirmative one as he lowered his gun and pressed a button to open the gate. The gate slowly slid aside and the Doctor stepped through the widening gap.

"Much appreciated," he said to the guard.

"Wait there." The guard spoke in a stern voice, one that the Doctor guessed was his attempt to be authoritative. Nonetheless, the Doctor remained where he was, looking about the open grassy plain surrounding them. The sky was filled with thick grey clouds, casting a vast shadow over the land. A strong wind blew in from the west, a precursor to a storm.

From further up the gravel road came another two guards. They stopped a short distance ahead, one of them motioning for the Doctor to follow. He did so, made to walk ahead of them whilst they kept watch on him from behind. Lockwood would be taking no chances this time around, not that it mattered much. The Doctor had come here willingly, and he intended to get what he wanted. He could leave, that was an option as soon as he got back the TARDIS, but could he really do that with the Sea Devils waking up beneath them? He doubted it. Leaving Lockwood to look after them would probably spell disaster for everyone involved. The man had to be stopped somehow.

They entered the inside grounds of the fortress, the mud beneath squelching with each step. The Doctor immediately noticed that things were not how he had left them. There were more guards around, for one thing, and they were noticeably more tense and moving about somewhat more frantically than before. Some kind of trouble had occurred, and he could guess that the Sea Devils were involved. He was taken to the one fully intact tower on the wall, overlooking the surrounding countryside. Here was where Lockwood had put his on-site office, which seemed typical for the man, as it placed him well above everyone else in terms of sheer height.

The two guards brought him into the dusty office at the top floor. A hatch was in the ceiling nearby, with an old wooden ladder leading up to it and through to the roof of the tower. Lockwood stood near one window, smoking an old-fashioned wooden pipe as he looked out over the countryside. As the Doctor was brought in, he turned around, a smile appearing at his face as his gaze fell upon the Doctor.

"Hello again, Doctor." Lockwood took a lengthy drag upon his pipe, smoke blowing out of its top.

"You have something of mine," the Doctor said, narrowing his eyes. "I'd like it back, thank you."

"You mean the big blue box?" Lockwood took the pipe from his mouth, letting smoke waft outwards in its wake. "The time machine? The _TARDIS_?"

"Yes, the TARDIS. Ten points to Lockwood for working out what it is." The Doctor paused for a moment, considering what next to add. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that stealing was wrong?"

"My mother was a dear old thing who made excellent strawberry jam," Lockwood replied. "You see, Doctor, I take what I want when I see it. A man like me, in this line of work, needs to take advantage of every opportunity that crosses his path. Seize the day and all that. And so I do. And I have the money and friends to get away with it most of the time. What have you got, Doctor? Besides the blue box?"

"What do you think I have?" The Doctor did not know just how much Lockwood knew about him. That was the problem, really, and he would need to tread carefully. He did not want to give away anything Lockwood might not have already known, he simply had to gauge the extent of the man's knowledge and from that he would know how best to deal with him.

"I know you're an alien," Lockwood said. "I know you travel through time and space. And I know that you cause nothing but trouble wherever you go. In fact, I'd say a fine specimen such as yourself would look great in my collection."

"So, you're going to stick me in a glass case? Or should I end up like Spartus?"

"Who?"

"Scales. He does have an actual name, you know. You should ask him for it sometime."

"Fascinating." Lockwood took a few steps forward, leaving only about a metre's space between him and the Doctor. He put the end of his pipe to his mouth absently, a deliberate look crossing his ageing features as he considered what to do with the alien before him. "What else do you know, Doctor? What could we learn from you?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." The Doctor kept a dispassionate look. "I do know a very good recipe for cherry jam."

Lockwood chuckled then. It was the first time he had heard the man laugh, so there was proof that he did have some kind of sense of humour.

"What does the future hold, Doctor?" Lockwood asked. "If we were to jump in your box and travel one-hundred years into the future, what would we find?"

"Here?" The Doctor gave a light shrug. "No idea. The way things are going now, you could very well be starting a war. You do know that, Captain Lockwood? You can't snatch a Sea Devil out of its chamber and experiment on it without there being some kind of repercussions. They've already started, haven't they?"

Lockwood frowned. The Doctor had struck a nerve, one he intended to keep pushing on.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," the Doctor continued. "I can almost smell it on the air. You did something and it backfired. People have died, haven't they?"

"The Sea Devil commander escaped," Lockwood said quickly. He sounded more subdued than usual, as if afraid to admit it. "He killed a few guards and went into the underground base. Interestingly, the door you locked shut again opened for him. It's closed again, but I've put several guards below to make sure it stays shut."

"I don't think guards are going to cut it," the Doctor countered. "The Sea Devils are a warrior species, Lockwood. Most of them like to fight. For some, it's all they were bred for. And when the one you sliced open…" He trailed off, frowning as Lockwood's gaze seemed to change slightly, with an almost knowing look to it. "You did it, didn't you? You cut the poor devil up, all in the name of research?"

"What would you have done, Doctor?"

"I wouldn't have cut him open to begin with," the Doctor replied. "We're talking about a sentient race of reptiles, Lockwood. Not a mere animal. Is it any wonder he broke free and killed people? You can't honestly tell me you're surprised about that, really?"

Lockwood did not reply. He turned around and walked back to the window, looking out across the rolling moorland.

"It was a risk," he said finally. "A risk that I was more than willing to take. In this line of work, there are always dangers."

"This isn't some relic hunt," the Doctor said. "You abducted a sentient creature as soon as it woke up after millions of years of slumber, and you outright experimented on it, all to advance your own knowledge. The danger here, Lockwood, is that any reasonable person would not have done that. Certainly not right away. They might have considered the consequences to begin with."

"How many Sea Devils are there, Doctor?" Lockwood turned around, rolling his pipe between the fingers of one hand. "Not very many. You said so yourself. Only a handful were being awoken. Many others were long dead, the technology having failed long ago. There isn't much threat to be had in a handful of walking, talking reptiles contained underground."

"Are they contained?" The Doctor took a step forwards. One of the nearby guards waggled his gun at him, signalling him not to move any further. "They might be underground, but they'd have other ways out. Other exits. The door you found was just one of them. There's a whole network of facilities deep under our feet, and there are hundreds of Sea Devils waiting to be woken up. All they need is a jumpstart from a decent power source. If those creatures wake up, and if they can get their base in proper working order, they could send word to other bases like it, scattered across the world. Get their automated systems working. Get the Sea Devils they have waking up. All over the world, we could have Sea Devils rising out of the ground and the seas. A full-blown war erupting all over the globe. Is that what you want, Lockwood? Because you need to keep what's got loose now contained. You have to nip it in the bud early. I can help you do that."

"You're offering your help?" Lockwood frowned. He did not sound convinced, nor did he seem very worried.

"Of course I am. You pretty much _need_ my help now."

"We'll keep it contained, Doctor," Lockwood stated. "As for you, as I said, a specimen like you deserves a place in my collection. Same goes for your mystical blue police box."

"You can't be serious." The Doctor could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was Lockwood so intent on his own personal gain that he was ignorant of the full scope of the situation? "You have to contain the situation now, or else it'll slip from you completely. More people will die, all of which could have been avoided. Surely, Lockwood, you can see this? You're an intelligent man. At least, I'm going to assume that you are for the sake of argument. The Sea Devils are an intelligent species. They can be reasoned with. I can reason with them. Let me try."

"Reason with them?" Lockwood scoffed. "Reason with a bunch of glorified fish men? Why on Earth would you bother, Doctor? You made it pretty clear that they don't like us humans. 'Livestock' and all that. And the one we captured was pretty vocal about its dislike for us. Somehow, I don't think you'd get far by reasoning with them."

"It's always worth a try. Better to do so now, when the damage done is minimal, instead of later, when it'll probably be too late to bother." The Doctor knew it was best they try now. The Sea Devils may have been warrior-like, but they were reasonable. He was sure he could come to some terms, however temporary. Anything to bring the violence to an end. If a few guards were already dead as a result of one disgruntled Sea Devil, how many more would die when the rest decided to make a move? How many more would die when the hundreds asleep underground below them woke up? And to make matters worse, it had been their leader who had escaped and done the killing. The Doctor would have to reason with him, the one who would certainly have the biggest grudge against humans in general. Trying to get through to someone like that, driven by revenge, would be difficult.

"I have to try," the Doctor said simply.

From somewhere below, there was a subdued and rapid _crack-crack-crack_ as an automatic weapon fired. Lockwood frowned and picked up the radio on his desk, flicking open a channel while the Doctor stood and listened. Had it started? The war that Lockwood's brash actions had caused? He could not say he was surprised.

"This is Lockwood," the old man barked. "What's going on?"

More shots rang out, most only faint.

"Report. What's happening down there?"

A frantic voice crackled through the radio.

" _Several of the creatures have emerged from the underground base. They're shooting at us, Captain. We're retreating back up into the fortress."_

"Shooting at you? With what?" There was no reply. Lockwood tapped a few buttons on the radio, but this did not help matters. No voice came through, save for the occasional gunshot.

"The Sea Devils have energy weapons," the Doctor said, his tone level, his expression grave. "Your guards will be outmatched."

"Hardly. We examined Sea Devil armour. Higher calibre rounds can penetrate, and enough concentrated fire can bring anything down."

"And what are your men armed with?" The Doctor took another step forwards. Lockwood motioned the guards to take it easy, and none stopped the Doctor from going any further. "Pistols? Submachine guns? Nothing that will penetrate that armour easily."

Realisation dawned on Lockwood, but he did not say anything. Whatever shock he might have felt disappeared quickly as he composed himself.

"Guards, go down and reinforce the defences," he ordered. The three guards exchanged uncertain glances, but a cruel look from Lockwood was enough to send them running out of the room and down the stairs. Lockwood then returned his gaze to the Doctor, though his face had become a stern mask, his mind no doubt working in overdrive to come up with some kind of solution to the matter. He was an intelligent man, the Doctor would at least give him that, but he applied that intelligence in all the wrong places.

"I'll simply have to call in the heavy artillery."

"Bigger guns? That's your response?" The Doctor shook his head. "I thought you'd be smarter than that, Lockwood. The Sea Devils are more advanced than you think. They're probably working on a way to shutdown communications here right now. You think they don't know you'll try and call for help."

"What do you suggest, Doctor? Since you seem so sure of everything."

"We reason with them. They're an intelligent species, they'll talk."

Lockwood frowned. He did not believe it, and the Doctor was not entirely sure how successful he would be, when the Sea Devils had apparently already made their minds up and had started shooting. Stopping it now, before it spiralled out of control even further, was paramount.

The Doctor did not wish to waste any more time. He turned around and strode out of the room, leaving Lockwood to mull over the situation. He looked up as the Doctor left, an annoyed frown creasing his ageing features as he moved.

"Doctor, where on Earth are you going?" Lockwood started after him, heading down the stairs. "You really think you can talk to them? They'll shoot you on sight."

"They'll shoot _you_ on sight," the Doctor countered. "I like to think they might react to me a little better, since I didn't humiliate and essentially torture their commander." He glanced back at Lockwood, shooting him a slight grin, before resuming along the path going downstairs.

Emerging outside, the sounds of weapons fire were somewhat louder, echoing out of the central keep. A few guards came running out of the building, some shouting as they went, before the front doors exploded outwards with a loud _crash_. Splinters of wood went flying every which-way and the guard closest was lifted off of his feet, landing a few metres away face-first in the mud. Smoke wafted from the burning edges of the now empty doorway, flames flickering at either side. From inside the central keep emerged a pair of armour-clad Sea Devils, neither of which were the escaped commander. The armour on one had golden-yellow highlights at the shoulders, likely indicating some kind of rank. Both held side-arms, each with short but wide barrels that wafted smoke from the energy discharge. The Sea Devils slowly trudged down the steps of the keep, one of them firing its gun, a bolt of searing white heat lancing forth. It left a vapour trail behind it as the bolt itself superheated the moisture present in the air, and the shot hit one of the fleeing guards in the back. There was a small eruption of fire and smoke and the guard yelped, tumbling forwards before landing unceremoniously in the mud. The smell of burning flesh hit the Doctor's nostrils as he walked straight towards the rampaging Sea Devils, unfazed by the chaos. They stopped at the base of the steps, turning their large, yellow-tinged eyes towards him.

Perhaps they were perplexed by the bravery of this one human, at least in their view, as he stood several metres ahead of them in the open ground of the courtyard. They pointed their weapons at him, but the Doctor did not move. Whereas the remaining guards had started to take cover further back and some up on the broken walls of the keep, the Doctor stood his ground. Lockwood remained at the foot of the tower, watching with a frown but remaining still.

" _Homo reptilia_ ," the Doctor said aloud. "The previous rulers of the Earth. You must want to know how I know that, am I right?"

The Sea Devil on the right went to fire but the one with the golden trim on his armour put out a hand, signalling his comrade to lower the gun. The shooting had stopped, at least for now, and the remaining guards had formed a defensive perimeter further behind the Doctor. None of them fired a shot, but they did keep their weapons pointed at the creatures all the same.

"You see, I'm here to help us reach an understanding," the Doctor continued. "We can't do that when we're shooting at each other, can we?"

"Who are you?" The one in charge spoke, his voice low, the words being hissed more so than anything else. "Why do you not run, like the others?"

"I run all the time," the Doctor replied. "Just not today. We've got a problem here, my fishy friend, and it's one that could get very bad very quickly. I mean, you've already started trying to kill each other. Humans and Sea Devils at it again. Who would have guessed?" He paused for a moment, aware that all eyes were on him. He did enjoy being the centre of attention.

Somewhere further behind him, one of Lockwood's hired security took position up on a wall, carrying a bolt-action rifle of some kind fitted with a telescopic sight. With the bipod underneath, he mounted the weapon on the short wall in front of him and took aim at one of the Sea Devils. There was no doubt in his mind that a weapon of this calibre could bring down one of these monsters.

"Just ask yourself, do you really have to come out of your base guns blazing? We're all intelligent here. We don't need to shoot each other. You've got a few hundred of your people underground, fast asleep. Surely we can reach some kind of understanding?" The Doctor raised one brow, looking straight at the Sea Devil with the gold trim on his armour. "This isn't necessary. It never is necessary. I think this is nothing more than an act carried out through anger, anger caused by the treatment of your boss. How is he, by the way?"

"Field Marshall Karva will survive," the Sea Devil officer replied.

"Excellent. And you? What's your name?"

There was a brief pause. It seemed to last a lot longer than it did, but finally the Sea Devil replied.

"I am Commander Havartiss. I am second-in-command to the Field Marshall. Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor." He paused for a moment, giving the Sea Devil a friendly enough grin. "You're important enough to be taken seriously, which is good. We need to be taken seriously here. What's happened today, it's all a big misunderstanding, really. Your Field Marshall was treated poorly, but surely shooting a bunch of humans in response isn't the best way to go about it? Let's face it, Havartiss, the humans are intelligent. Maybe back in your day they were still living in trees, but now they've built a great civilisation. It has its good and its bad, but you cannot seriously tell me you want to kill them all? All seven and a half billion of them?"

"Billions?" Havartiss' eyes widened. "There are _billions_ of humans?"

"Horrifying, isn't it?" The Doctor smiled at him. "You may have the technological advantage, but what you do here, today, will probably decide the fate of your entire species."

Havartiss sniffed the air then. His face seemed to scrunch up in disgust as he did so.

"The air is polluted," he said. "If the apes are as intelligent as you say, why have they poisoned the air like they have?"

The Doctor took a breath. He could not detect anything immediately wrong with the air, save for the usual hints of petrol.

"Because they make mistakes, like everything else with a brain and the smarts to build a society," the Doctor said. "And I know full well that your society was not perfect either, as much as you might say otherwise. You had your good and your bad, same with everyone and everything. Starting a war here would be a mistake, and I can assure you that it will not go well for you." The Doctor's tone became grave, and he spoke as truthfully as he could. "I do not wish to see a species, such as yours, be destroyed because you acted on emotion, rather than any kind of logic or reason. What this is, what you're doing now, it's an emotional outburst. That's all it is, when you come down to it. And I'd say it's run its course. We should sit down and talk this all over. It would be best for everyone if we can reach an understanding."

Havartiss seemed to consider his words. However, he was not the Field Marshall. He could not make decisions without consulting first with his commander, and had the Field Marshall died then things may have been simpler. Had the Field Marshall been gone, Havartiss could make a decision there and then. Still, he had a duty to his leader and there was a hierarchy to adhere to. He had had that drummed into his head from a very early age.

The Doctor waited for an answer, certain that he had made some sort of impression. The Sea Devil's delay in a reply certainly indicated as such.

"The apes have grown above their station," Havartiss said finally. "You say there are billions of them? Such a population is unsustainable. Given their warlike nature and their pollution of the planet, then even I would suggest some degree of culling was in order."

"You'd start a fight you cannot win." The Doctor could hardly believe what he was hearing. Havartiss simply shook his head, raising his gun at the Doctor.

"Unlikely. This human civilisation you speak so highly of should never have risen in the first place. Our scientists made a critical error, and I intend to rectify it. Our people will return to their former greatness, even if it means building that new society on the ashes of the humans."

"I can't let you do that," the Doctor said, gritting his teeth.

"You will not be able to stop us."

The Doctor would not have time to get out of the way, he knew this much. Had he misjudged? That seemed likely. Or had they simply had the misfortune to dig up a bunch of supremacist Sea Devils? Talking to this warrior, this soldier, that seemed like a mistake. He needed to get through to the Field Marshall, the one who had already been wronged by the actions of the humans. The Doctor thought about all this in the mere second it took for Havartiss to aim his gun at him and pull the trigger, and at the last moment the Doctor thought that he would not get a chance to ever meet the Field Marshall and try negotiating, as by the look of it he was about to die unceremoniously in a muddy courtyard.

"Shoot the bastards!" Lockwood shouted suddenly. "Shoot them! Open fire!"

From somewhere behind him, there was a deafening _crack_ as a rifle fired. Havartiss stumbled as the shot hit him in the left shoulder, penetrating the armour there and sending forth a small spurt of dark red blood. He roared in pain and anger, dropping his gun as he fell backwards against the steps. Immediately, the other guards began to open fire, and the Doctor had little option but to hit the deck and hope their aim was good enough to miss him.

Havartiss stumbled back into the keep, grabbing his dropped pistol as he went. The other Sea Devil was hit with a hail of bullets, sparks flying off of its armour before several rounds found their way through, causing the creature to jerk and convulse, blood erupting from the numerous holes that were punched through the armour plating. It finally tumbled and fell, landing in a heap in the mud, only metres from where the Doctor was lying prone. The Sea Devil's eyes stared blankly at him, and he felt a pang of frustration and anger that quickly began to snowball into something greater.

As the Doctor rose to his feet, his jacket covered in mud, he knew right away that it was far from over. There were more Sea Devils coming up from the facility, he did not know how many, but it seemed likely that some more had been risen from sleep during the hours since he and Lockwood had gone into the facility. They came out of the central keep in pairs, spreading out as they exchanged fire with Lockwood's security. Bolts of searing white energy zipped across the open courtyard, with bullets flying the other way. Two guards to the Doctor's left went down, each with smouldering holes shot through them. The Doctor started for cover near the main entrance, shooting a glance over at Lockwood who had disappeared from view. Looking about him, the Doctor counted only about a half a dozen guards in total, and perhaps ten Sea Devils, though it was hard to tell exactly in the chaos.

He turned around, looking out of the fortress through the entrance-way. Lockwood was there, making a run for his car. While his security guards fought and died, he was making a getaway. The Doctor should have expected as much from him, but there was no time to dwell on that. Nor was there any time to find the TARDIS, which was likely around here somewhere, not that he could see it for the life of him. The whole situation had fallen apart, shattered even, in the most dramatic and disastrous way possible.

"Fall back!" He shouted. "Get out of here! There's no use any more of you dying!"

The guards seemed to get the idea. They were turning around and making a run for it, with the Doctor heading out of the fortress while Lockwood sped away in his luxury black four-door. One guard raced by the Doctor, only for a bolt of energy to slam into his back, blowing a smoking hole straight through him. The Doctor watched him fall into the mud, unmoving, before turning around to watch as the advancing Sea Devils rushed after them. There was no other option now but to run.

Racing across the gravel outside, he made his way onto the lane heading for the perimeter gate. He was not alone, about three security guards ran with him. The guard at the gate had already bailed, leaving the gate itself wide open. As for the Sea Devils, they did not advance any further than the fortress. Why would they? The fortress was an easily defendable position and an excellent staging ground for further attacks. Lockwood and his guards had essentially just handed the place over to a hostile force, and there was little the Doctor could do about it, certainly not right now.

He rushed out onto the road, his mind racing. What could be done now? How had he misjudged things so badly? Even he made mistakes sometimes, yet he never felt any good when he did make them. How many had died today? More than he was comfortable with. For the moment, he only had UNIT to go back to, and he knew full well what their response to the situation would be. Nonetheless, his options were limited, and he had no TARDIS nor anything sonic. He would need help, and even his options there were limited.


	14. Reversal

**Reversal**

Yvonne Krieger had been in the central keep when the shooting had started. She had been helping herself to some of the food that had been stored here, mostly canned non-perishable sorts. There was a microwave on a bench, one she had used to heat up some baked beans, when the first gunshots reverberated from the lower levels of the keep. Her mind had been on other things as she ate quietly by herself, watching the way the dim outside light filtered through the stained glass windows at one end of the room.

Her thoughts had gone to the creature she had cut open and what the computers here had mapped out in terms of its anatomy. Of course, she would need to do a full dissection in order to know exactly what made the creature tick. Judging from its escape earlier, she would not get an opportunity to do one, at least not on that particular creature.

The Sea Devil breakout had caught her by surprise and left her trapped on the upper floors while they rampaged through the ground floor and outside, driving out the guards. Krieger had watched all this from the window, her heart thumping in her chest, practically heaving when she saw the guards getting killed. She had seen plenty of dead bodies in her time, but it was a different matter altogether when she was watching the actual deaths take place, even more so as they were being caused by walking, talking lizards with laser guns. As soon as the last surviving guard had fled, she realised that she was trapped, and as if on cue she heard footsteps coming up the stairs in the corridor outside.

She was not a violent woman. Callous, maybe, cold even, but it was required for her line of work. She cut up creatures for a living, so being hardened towards the sight of blood and internal organs was very much a necessity. Of course, that did not prepare her for an attack by ancient intelligent reptiles. As the footsteps neared, she made her way to the bench nearby. Near the microwave was a wooden block where a number of different sized knives had been placed. She took out the biggest one, a chef's knife, and hid by the door. Her heart pounded and sweat started to form on her brow. Her hands shook, and she put both to the hilt of the knife in an attempt to hold it steady.

The footsteps stopped outside. Had the creature heard her? It could probably smell her, she realised. Perhaps it even heard the beating of her overworked heart, the rushing of her blood through her veins? She could not judge exactly how intelligent they were; she had not had an opportunity to examine the brain of one. Lockwood had wanted the blasted thing kept alive, for whatever reason. Probably to add to his messed-up collection of relics and specimens, and it could very well be the reason why these creatures were attacking now.

The door slowly opened and Yvonne lunged for the figure in the doorway. The Sea Devil saw her coming right away, it had heard her behind the door and it had smelled her rather vividly as well. With one hand, it grabbed her wrist, gripping it tightly. The pressure was enough to make her drop the knife, sending it clanking upon the floor. Yvonne let out a scream and the Sea Devil groaned loudly in response, as if the noise had hurt it somehow. Twisting her arm awkwardly, she continued screaming and she felt herself pushed back against the wall. The Sea Devil was on her then, its eyes looking into her, and its hand working itself over her mouth to silence her. Its yellow eyes were wide and bright, their fish-like pupils seemingly glaring into her very soul. Yvonne wanted to scream, it felt as if it were a necessity, if only to release the terror that was building in her. The creature's grip upon her was tight and unforgiving. With its hand, it worked itself around her neck, tightening gradually, enough to make it a struggle to take a breath.

It did not take long for her to feel light-headed. With the world spinning around her, the Sea Devil let her go, leaving her to thump upon the floor rather unceremoniously. Vaguely, she felt the creature lift her up effortlessly, and it threw her over one shoulder before it carried her out of the room. The world faded from her then, replaced with a darkness that clouded and dulled her every sense. Whatever this creature wanted with her, she thought in her closing moments of consciousness, it was not anything good. And she did not even have the energy to shout or scream, not that there was anyone around to help her.

* * *

The Doctor was in an appropriately sour mood when he finally arrived at the UNIT headquarters. He had taken the bus, because despite the attack committed by a number of fishy lizard men and the deaths of several innocent people, the rest of the country remained oblivious to the events and the buses ran on time, oddly enough. As for the Doctor's preferred mode of transport, the TARDIS was still at the fortress, essentially a no-go zone now, a problem he would have to sort out at some point. For now, though, he had more pressing issues to attend to.

He was able to let himself in, with the one guard outside simply waving him on through. They knew who he was, some of these UNIT people practically worshipped him. Captain Proctor was in the main room where the radio equipment was, and she rose from her desk as the Doctor trudged inside. He was muddy and his ageing features looked appropriately harsh, his face seemingly caught in a perpetual frown and his standout eyebrows appearing all the more intense. To Proctor, she had never seen anyone with quite the level of intense thought etched on their face as she saw the Doctor now. Something had happened, she knew this right away upon looking at him.

"Doctor, what's going on?"

The Doctor slid off his muddy jacket, hanging it on a coat-rack by the wall. He walked over to a vacant chair nearby and sat down, staring at the curtained window on his right. Proctor did not know how to approach him, as something had clearly gone terribly wrong. How did one speak to an alien like him, when they were in a bad mood?

"We heard reports of gunfire from the vicinity of the fortress," Proctor said. She walked up to him slowly. The Doctor glanced at her and for a moment he remained silent, hand to his chin, his demeanour one of careful deliberation. "Did something happen at the dig site?"

"You could say that." He finally spoke, his tone sour, angry even. "I wouldn't just say it 'happened'. Word hardly does it justice. What 'happened' out there was the very thing I've been trying to prevent."

"Did people die?"

"People die all the time, Captain Proctor." The Doctor scratched at the bridge of his nose. "It's when the deaths shouldn't happen that I have a problem with. I think, Proctor, that you have a serious problem on your hands. And you can lay it at the feet of Edmund Lockwood, collector of exotic items." He said the last part with as much vitriol as he could muster.

"What happened, Doctor? What kind of problem do we have?"

"Problem? Oh, it's much more than that." He rose out of the chair and paced towards the window. With one hand, he pushed aside the curtain slightly, peering through the gap to the front of the old house's grounds outside. "I'd even go as far as to say that a war's started. Under that fortress are hundreds of hibernating Sea Devils. Warriors, Proctor. Soldiers." He turned to her, his face grim. "Like you, in a sense. Doing everything they can to protect their people. Killing to save their own. And Lockwood had the gall and lack of sense to experiment on their leader. Practically cut him open, all in the pursuit of science."

"Where is Lockwood now?"

"Probably run off home." The Doctor let the curtains fall back into place. "There was an incident, Captain. And a bunch of people died. Even more will die, if something isn't done soon. And I tried to reason with them, Captain. I tried to prevent it."

"It didn't work?" Proctor narrowed her eyes. It was no wonder the Doctor seemed so down-and-out.

"They see you all as primitives, stupid apes who have polluted this planet and have been killing each other for so long that you've become very good at it. They see the planet as theirs, and there is little that will shake them of that belief. They don't think humanity is worthy of having this world, and sometimes I think the same way. Not often, of course." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "More people will die if something isn't done soon."

"Well, haven't you got a plan?"

"A plan?" The Doctor shook his head. "No, not at all. Above trying to reason with them. Thing is, if I can get through to their leader, I might be able to work something out. That would mean going back to the fortress and getting into their base. They'd likely shoot me on sight, but that's not a problem. The real problem is convincing them not to start a war."

"So, that's it, then? A war's started?" Proctor gave it some thought. Surely the Sea Devils could not expect to win it? They would be outnumbered vastly, and no matter how advanced they may have been, there was simply no way for them to win.

"We need to find Lockwood." The Doctor stated this with such certainty that Proctor immediately found herself agreeing with the suggestion. "He might have gone back to his house. The man's a coward. As soon as things stop going his way he runs off. But if we get him, we might have better luck getting through to the Sea Devils."

"How so?" Proctor did not entirely appreciate just how grim the Doctor looked. It was as if he knew what he was going to do was not a good thing, it was simply the only thing he could do. The best course of action was not always something one might enjoy doing.

"He's the cause, isn't he?" The Doctor did not like what he was saying. After what had happened, it seemed there would be little other choice. "For now, it's all I've got."

"We could blow up their base," Proctor suggested. Immediately the Doctor stepped towards her, towering over her by a few inches, his eyes carrying a sharp, piercing gaze that made her take a step back. She had struck a chord in him, this much was apparent.

"No, you'll do no such thing." The Doctor shook his head slowly. "UNIT already pulled that stunt once, or don't you remember? The Sea Devils, the Earth Reptiles, whatever you want to call them, they are an intelligent species. They are much like yourselves in some ways. They appreciate art, and beauty, and well-prepared meals. Destroying their base would be like committing genocide. I can't allow that, no matter what the people in charge of UNIT might think."

"If what you say is true, then they control the fortress." Proctor straightened and composed herself. "They could have other exits elsewhere. We could have Sea Devils coming out of the countryside all over. What will the public say, when the fish men start crawling out of the sea and the ground? There'll be panic. More people will die."

The Doctor knew he should have expected such a solution from UNIT. Blowing things up might have solved some problems, but it was never the best way to do so. He would not stand by and let them destroy an intelligent race. What bothered him was what had happened already. They could have met the Sea Devils on peaceable terms to begin with. However, Lockwood had ruined that. His greed and ambition had brought this upon them all. Had the Doctor known what kind of man he was, he may not have been so willing to open the way into the Sea Devil base. Once again, his curiosity had lead him into trouble, and he intended to do whatever he could to set things right.

"Doctor, I don't see how you can reason with them," Proctor continued. "They've made their choice. If they attacked the people at the fort, then surely we have to answer them in turn? We have to take them out before they take us out."

"Yes, yes, what a great response to the situation," the Doctor said. He shook his head again. "You're an intelligent woman, Captain. Surely you can think of something a bit better than going shooty-shooty with your guns? Think outside of your narrow military mind. We have a pack of angry Sea Devils lurking in an old fortress, wronged by humanity. I know you want to solve the problem now, Captain, but there are other ways. There have to be other ways…" He trailed off. He did not know how he was going to do it, but he would fix things. He had to. "You have to give me a chance. I have to make things right, between us and the Sea Devils. And I'll probably need Lockwood to do it. His brash actions started this, after all."

"We can help you find Lockwood," Proctor said.

"I'll go to his house. I've been there before. Like I said, he's probably run home. It's the best place to look."

"You're not going by yourself, are you, Doctor?" Proctor did sound concerned, likely because she knew that she would need him for whatever was to happen with the Sea Devils.

"You've got all of six people here, Captain. You need them more than I do."

"Abigail can go with you. She's upstairs now, but if you don't mind waiting a few minutes I can get her out here and we can give you both a car. Saves you the trouble of having to walk in the cold and rain."

The Doctor considered this briefly. He would not mind the extra help, and Abigail seemed a capable enough girl judging from his brief time knowing her.

"Sure, if she likes breaking and entering she can come." The Doctor started for the door. One hand went for his muddy jacket, but stopped short of it. He had probably reconsidered wearing it, given that it was caked with the greyish mud so common in parts of the country.

"You're leaving now?"

"Of course I am, Captain. No use sitting around here."

"I'll get on the horn to Geneva. We'll need help with this Sea Devil problem." Proctor walked for the phone on her desk.

The Doctor knew what that meant. Countless soldiers would be sent out here, likely causing more problems than anything else. And they would probably bring a few large bombs with them as well. He knew military minds, and they had the habit of selecting the most direct means of solving a problem, and usually the most explosive at that. He could not stop Proctor from calling for help, part of him knew that it would be needed if things got any worse. Chances are they would, unless he could do something to bring an end to hostilities. All the more reason for him to head out as quickly as possible.

He would probably only have an hour or two before the soldiers Proctor was about to request came barging into the region. Then the war would really start, and the Doctor had no intention of letting it happen.

* * *

"Yes, I recognize this one."

Field Marshall Karva watched as the Sea Devil warrior laid the unconscious female upon the bench in front of him. They were down in the shelter, and Karva was positively buzzing with the victory they had just achieved against the apes in the fortress above. Standing by the doorway of the medical bay was Havartiss, who was watching him with a vaguely uncertain gaze. The human woman before them had been brought down by one of the other soldiers, a live prisoner for their own use. Gasrava had requested a few be taken, but the soldiers above had been a bit overzealous in their methods and had killed most of the humans in the fortress. The rest had fled, an understandable response in the face of their might. Even when the humans vastly outnumbered them, they could not stand against the Sea Devils, all the more evidence of the superiority of Karva and his people.

Gasrava stood at one corner, fiddling with some of the laboratory equipment. The place was in need of a clean, strewn with debris from millennia of neglect. Even so, he had managed to get the laboratory computer working, even if it was on limited power.

Karva had been patched up to the best of Gasrava's ability. He still felt the pain of his injuries, and the application of a tissue regenerating agent had hurt perhaps even more than when the human scientist had cut him open. After the procedure, Karva had ordered they take control of the structure above them. From here, they would be able to launch further raids and scouting parties into human territory. Their search for power for the base was paramount, as with that they would be able to get in touch with remaining shelters across the planet.

"Gasrava, what did you have in mind for your specimens?" Karva turned to the scientist, who looked up from his fiddling and frowned slightly.

"There is something I can attempt," he said, "But I do not know how well it would serve us. And it is potentially volatile, and would likely require far more than one specimen."

The human female began to stir. He watched from nearby as her eyes opened and she looked about her groggily, only for her to see where she was and the face of the Field Marshall. Fear made her eyes widen, followed by her mouth opening wide as a scream started in earnest. Karva put a hand upon her mouth, firmly muffling the irritating noise. She struggled, flailing her arms about, but the bulky Sea Devil had no difficulty holding her arms down. The soldier who had brought her in, a young warrior by the name of Davak, helped to hold her in place while Gasrava came over and tied her down with flexible metal straps, comprised of a similar alloy as to what the Sea Devils made their armour from.

"This is the one who operated upon me," Karva said, taking a step back from her. She was looking at him, her eyes watering in that odd way only the apes could do. She certainly recognized him, and it was this that made him smile, bearing his pointed teeth in a grin that only made her cry out again. "Excellent find, Davak. You have made your leader proud."

Havartiss stepped forwards then, getting the Field Marshall's attention.

"Field Marshall, there is something you need to know."

"Commander?" He turned to his second-in-command, and Havartiss gestured to the open door. The pair headed out into the corridor, where a pair of their own were busy cleaning up the debris and grime that was scattered about the place. "One of the apes spoke to us, when we were on the surface. Approached us fearlessly, unlike the others."

"Spoke to you?" Karva found this only somewhat intriguing. The apes could speak, they all knew that, and there was no denying that their technological advancements had come close to their own. Was it so surprising, then, that maybe a few of them knew of their people? Perhaps they had found other shelters, and mercilessly killed those of their brethren within?

"He knew of us," Havartiss said. He seemed concerned, more so than Karva had seen him before. "But he said he wanted to negotiate. He wanted to reach a peaceful settlement."

"And what did you do with him?"

"Nothing. We continued with our capture of the fortress above. I do not know what became of the one who attempted to communicate. However…" He trailed off, shifting anxiously where he stood.

"However, what, Commander?"

"He may have had a point," Havartiss said. "The humans outnumber us considerably. Their weapons may not be as advanced, but they are enough to kill us. I lost Cavan during the attack."

"Acceptable losses, Commander." Karva had not reached his position without losing soldiers under his command. It was an accepted consequence of war. What they needed to do now was to raise as many of their own from slumber to compensate for any casualties they may suffer during their crusade against the humans on the surface. "Gasrava is working on ways to thin the human numbers, as he often has. It was his job before he was assigned to this shelter."

"Regardless, just how well will we fare, against the billions of humans who live on the surface?" Havartiss' tone was level. He was trying to be the voice of reason, something that was a bit out of character for him. Karva had always known Havartiss to be one of the more hot-headed of his people, always prone to actions without thought. Perhaps his time asleep had matured him somewhat? Regardless, Karva could only make note of his concerns. They would not dissuade him from any of what he had planned to do next.

"And just how much can we trust Gasrava? It was scientists like him who put us underground to begin with. They made a mistake, one that has cost us the planet. If it were up to me…"

"You would execute him?" Karva finished. Havartiss nodded his head slowly. Of course the Commander would want to get rid of the scientist. Gasrava was one whom Havartiss had never liked much to begin with. Of course, there would be no executions as long as Karva was around. The scientists may have made a mistake, but it would be the soldiers, the warriors, who would rectify it.

"Do not let your personal feelings lead you to make brash decisions," Karva said. "The future of our people lies in the hands of warriors like us, not of scientists. In the end, it is people like us who will put our people back in their place as the rightful rulers of this world. Gasrava is a means to an end, and so far the only one with medical experience we have here. Until we can find a proper power source, we may have to keep him around for a lot longer." Karva put a hand to Havartiss' right shoulder, doing his best to placate the young warrior. "If we can get this base properly powered, we may be able to contact other shelters. With them, we can arrange a mass offensive. Catch the apes by surprise. In the meantime, you will lead our scouting party to the surface. There is no one else I can think of who would be better for that task."

"Of course, Field Marshall." Havartiss straightened up. "You can trust me. When do we leave?"

"Right away."


	15. Interlude II

**Interlude II**

It had been some years since Spartus had last been on Archov Prime. Varona had changed, a result of the arrival of the Federation troops. The planet had become a popular recruiting ground for both sides of the conflict, and Spartus had been among those lured in with the promise of adventure and sent to the frontlines to fight for someone who, despite their charisma and tactical brilliance, had not been fighting for the betterment of the galaxy. Not that Spartus cared much for whom he had been fighting for, at least that had been his attitude until he had met the one in question. It had been at a rally on some distant planet, days before Spartus had seen his first battle. Morbius had stood before a crowd of thousands, upon a platform that gave him a view of the motley bunch of soldiers lined up before him. Spartus had stood in one row, flanked by several others of his kind, flaming torches at either side of the rally grounds. It had been sunset, and the sky above had been a blazing orange in colour. Overall, he had been unable to prevent himself from becoming caught up in the atmosphere of the rally, while the man himself delivered a riveting speech about bringing a new order to the galaxy and crushing any resistance that was in their path.

In the end, the war had gone badly and Morbius had been executed for his crimes. His body had been atomised, preventing any chance of revival, all before a crowd on the barren world of Karn. Spartus had witnessed it himself, one of many of the man's shock troopers who had been captured during the final battle. Spartus had worked his way up the ranks of the renegade army rather rapidly, down more to his skills and fast healing abilities rather than through experience. He had been released not long after, another one of many who had been duped into following a madman. Spartus had caught a flight home, but it was clear on the approach that home had changed. The Galactic Federation, or whatever it was calling itself now, had laid claim to the world during the war. Stepping out onto the narrow streets of Varona, Spartus found the change of atmosphere apparent right away. It was evening, and normally there would be market stalls lining the main road and the local taverns would be full of life. Now, however, the streets were eerily quiet and soldiers patrolled the grounds. Human soldiers mainly, outfitted in bulky grey sets of armour, maintaining a curfew that Spartus was likely breaking by being outside.

Nonetheless, he took up his rucksack, carrying what few personal belongings he had, and started for the way home. He knew these streets well, he had played in them when he had been a child, and the smell of saltwater on the air only brought back these memories far more vividly than he had been expecting. He could see himself and his brother, seated on the pier at the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore and the sea birds above circling, sometimes swooping down to snatch up a fish from the water. Or the occasional transport ship would fly overhead, its engines roaring, the birds scattering in fright.

As Spartus rounded a corner, entering a narrow street, he almost walked straight into a tall, bulky figure in thick dark green armour. An Ice Warrior, he realised, and it had its sonic gun pointed at him. Its eyes were hidden under its red visor, but Spartus knew full well what they looked like underneath. He had unmasked a few during the war, after killing them. Partly because of curiosity, but also partly as a means of taking trophies.

"Curfew is in place," the Ice Warrior hissed. Spartus stood his ground, standing only a few inches shorter than the bulky alien. "No citizens are to be out after sunset."

"Well, it's sunset right now, isn't it? Besides, I only just arrived," he said. "Step aside, lizard. My house is just down the road."

The Ice Warrior seemed to consider this for a moment. He was another Federation goon, one of the few non-human soldiers stationed here. Slowly, the Ice Warrior stepped aside, allowing Spartus to continue into the narrow, winding street. His house, narrow and packed closely together with others like it, was by a bend in the paved road. There was a light on at the second floor, likely his father in his study. Stopping at the door, he took a moment to compose himself, doing his best to make himself look presentable despite his dirty clothing and generally bedraggled appearance. After a pause, he knocked upon the door. A few sharp knocks, loud enough for him to hear footsteps from behind it. There was an extended pause as he waited, figuring that those within would be hesitant to answer it. Finally, after what felt like ten minutes but in reality was really only one, the door swung open. His brother, Lasthan, stood behind it and his eyes widened noticeably when he saw who was standing outside.

"Spartus…" Lasthan trailed off. He had grown since Spartus had last seen him. Just how much time had passed, exactly? He could not be certain. It felt like it had only been a few years, yet a lot could change in that span of time.

"Is our father here?" Spartus stepped inside. The interior was how he remembered it, very little had changed. He looked to his right, into the living room, expecting to see his mother there. Instead, the room was dark and empty. "Better yet, is mother around?"

"Spartus, you shouldn't have come back." Lasthan sounded worried. Spartus turned to him and narrowed his eyes. "I don't think our father wants to see you."

"He should. I'm his son. You didn't think I was dead, did I?" Spartus put his rucksack down on the floor by the wall. "Where is mother? Is she in bed?"

Lasthan shifted where he stood. No doubt he was feeling uncomfortable. Spartus sensed right then that something was wrong.

"What's happened, Las?" Spartus felt his hearts skip in his chest. "What's going on?"

"Mother died last year," Lasthan replied. His voice was low, and it was clear he was still feeling the effects of her death. "After you left, she withdrew from everyone and locked herself away. She became a shut-in, Spartus. When she found out where you had gone and the things you were doing, she descended into some kind of depression."

"How did she find out?"

"The Federation came here not long after you left. They brought with them access to their newscasts. That included mention of people like you, Spartus. They might have pardoned you and others like you, but that won't help you in the eyes of those who know what you are." Lasthan seemed uneasy, as if standing in his brother's presence was making him uncomfortable. "Coming back here was a mistake. There are people here who would be more than happy to see you dead."

"But…how could she have known about me?"

"Because she saw you on one of the news broadcasts. When she told us, we didn't believe it, but when father saw it himself…" Lasthan trailed off. The implications were clear. Spartus had essentially caused his mother to become depressed, likely leading directly to her death. He suddenly felt empty inside, as if this news had hollowed him out. He remained silent for an extended moment, his mind ablaze with conflicting thoughts and emotions. This was not how he had expected to come home. People were not supposed to know of his involvement in the war. Somehow the news had got out, and despite his pardon it was unlikely that the people who knew would forgive him.

"Mother killed herself, Spartus." Lasthan croaked the words out, as if he could barely speak them himself. "She used some kind of Federation medicine to do it. Overdosed on it. By the time we found her, she was gone."

Spartus' frustration boiled over then. He let out an incoherent shout of anger and grief before he curled his right hand into a fist and sent it into the wall closest to him. The plaster came away under the powerful blow, crumbling around his now aching and bloodied fist as he struck the brickwork underneath. Lasthan watched on in silence, unsure of how he should react, or what he should even say to his older brother.

"I think it's best you leave," Lasthan said. "Before father comes down. You're the last person he wants to see."

"Leave? I just arrived." Spartus pulled his hand away from the wall, flexing his cut and bleeding fingers. He looked to Lasthan, a thought occurring to him then and there. "Haven't you ever wanted to leave this planet? There's a whole universe out there, Las. So many worlds, so many creatures. And I only saw a mere pin's head worth of it. We could leave, the two of us. Explore the galaxy together."

"You can't be serious." Lasthan sounded naturally reluctant. "After all this time and everything that's happened, you come back and now you want me to leave with you? Don't you think of anyone other than yourself, Spartus? Mother died because you left. She might have done it to herself, but had you not run off…"

"I had to leave," Spartus interrupted. "This place, there's no future for me here. I don't want to be a fisherman. I left because I was bored. That's the extent of it. I went out there to make a difference."

"A difference for a madman."

"And what have you done, while I was gone?" Spartus could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. His father, tall and broad-shouldered, appeared on the steps. His features were wizened with age, his scaly skin having gone a dull grey in colour, losing some of the sheen that the younger Spartus and Lasthan carried with theirs. When he saw his eldest son his brow furrowed, and a mix of emotions played across his face, before settling on mere resignation.

"You've returned, after all this time?" His father's voice was rough and raspy. "Why? After what you did to your family?"

"I came to see my brother, not you." Spartus looked away from his father, who descended the remaining steps and stopped a short distance away.

"I overheard you. The fact that you think leaving and fighting for a megalomaniac is 'making a difference' is astounding. The only difference you made was to the people you killed." His father spoke in a level tone. Whatever anger he might have felt had long since faded, replaced with simple resignation to the facts before him. His eldest son had returned, and he had become a killer during his absence. "How many innocents were slain by your hand?"

"I didn't kill anyone who didn't have it coming."

"I find that hard to believe." His father narrowed his dull yellow eyes. "What of the massacre at Darvis V? That was all over the Federation news broadcasts. So many innocent lives lost, and you were there, weren't you?"

"Not even a 'hello' for your son?" Spartus felt cold. This was not what he had been expecting. Thinking that his parents had remained in ignorance of the war had been naïve, but he had certainly not expected them to be well aware of his involvement. "This is ridiculous. I did what I had to do, I got off this rock because there's nothing for me here. And I sure as hell don't want to end up like you." He pointed a finger at his father. "Nothing more than a simple fisherman. I've got bigger things in mind. If you don't want me here, I'll leave. No problem." He took up his rucksack from the floor and headed for the door. His brother started after him, all the while his father looked on and said nothing. Lasthan called for his older brother. The curfew was in place, after all, and heading outside was likely to cause trouble.

"Spartus, wait! You'll be arrested!"

Spartus did not care. He kept walking outside, before he finally ducked into a narrow alleyway and threw his rucksack to the ground in a burst of anger. Leaning against the wall, he buried his face into one hand and wept. Never had he felt this way before, not even when he had been surrounded by scorched corpses on the battlefields of Darvis V, or when everyone in his entire squad had been massacred on Varos during the disastrous incursion to that world. This was another kind of pain, one that could not be treated with medicine. It was the pain that came when one realised that everything they knew had changed and their old lives had gone, when they themselves had become something different, so different that even their own family rejected them. He remained in this state for a fair while, even when his brother put an arm around him and lead him back to the house. They would have much to discuss, the two of them and their father.


	16. A Shocking Turn

**A Shocking Turn**

Spartus had had a restless night. He often did, sleeping down in the cellar, with only a fairly thin sleeping mat and an old blanket to keep himself warm. It did manage to remain fairly temperate down here, but for someone like Spartus, who liked the warmth, it was not normally enough to make him feel comfortable.

Waking up from another dream, one where he had found himself standing in a battlefield strewn with corpses, running and running with no end in sight, Spartus sat up and felt a wave of relief upon finding himself back in the real world. Of course, the real world in this case was his captivity in the home of a ruthless 'collector', but it was better than whatever nightmarish dreamscape he had just been in. Reaching over for the small lamp set on a wooden stall nearby, he switched it on, bathing his corner of the cellar in bright yellow light. Then he reached for the top book on his pile of several close to him, flicking it open to where he had left off, resuming his reading for lack of anything better to do.

Instead of focusing on the words he read, his mind wandered. Specifically, he found himself thinking of what that strange man, the Doctor, had told him. About getting back home, and about working out how and why he had ended up on Earth in the first place. Spartus put aside the book, wondering if the Doctor was legitimate or nothing more than a delusional eccentric. Surely it was better to take a chance with someone like that, than to remain here, chained up and nothing more than a glorified indentured servant? When Spartus had left his home-world, he had not seen this sort of life in his future for himself. He had seen a whole galaxy to roam, and that he intended to do, a free spirit in the truest sense. Instead, he was here, well away from home and well out of his own time, a stranger in a strange land, imprisoned in the basement of a dangerous old man. He had contemplated killing Lockwood on many occasions, but he had never followed through with it. What would he achieve if he did such a thing, especially when he still had the implant jammed into his brain? He could not leave the mansion grounds without his head exploding, and he very much wanted to avoid that.

He had to do something. Staying here for much longer would send him mad. For months he had remained in his resigned, frustrated mood, unable to act on what he wanted to do and what needed to be done, for his sake. This Doctor, whoever he was, had reminded him that there was a chance at escape, no matter how slim. And with the possibility that he could get home, or at the very least back to his own time, he knew he could not pass it up. Even if it was all just folly, nothing more than an eccentric's fantasy, it was still something he would have to take a chance on. He could not go on living without knowing for certain. And what the Doctor had said, about an electrical charge…

Spartus tested his chain for the umpteenth time. He did the same thing every day, yanking on it with as much strength as he could muster, every day on repeat occasions, and over the months it had indeed loosened somewhat. Anything could be broken, given enough time. At the moment, it was not quite enough for him to act on. Even so, he still had some room to move, and his eyes went to the light bulb dangling from the ceiling in front of him.

Reaching the end of his length of chain, he reached up and unscrewed the bulb from its housing. Pulling the dangling cable down to his face, he used his powerful teeth to rip the end free, exposing the copper wiring within. Tossing aside the light bulb, he walked back to the wall. There were some metal bolts here, jutting from parts of the stone wall. These bolts may have once held some sort of shelves or additional chains or something. This building did have a long history, so it was no surprise that there was a genuine dungeon down in the cellar. As for Spartus, he began to use his fingers to force a few of these bolts out of the wall. Many were rusted firmly in place, and the amount of effort required to so much as budge a few of them was enough to leave his fingers aching. Still, he went on, his mind in overdrive as a plan began to formulate.

Back when he had first been imprisoned here, they had provided a bell for him to ring if he were to need anything. They had taken it away after a week, as he had abused his use of the bell a great deal, ringing it in the middle of the night simply to annoy the humans in the house. Had he had something to make a noise now, to get the attention of the guard upstairs, then things for him down here right now would have been a lot easier.

Removing one of the bolts, he wrapped some of the copper wiring behind it. With another end of the wiring, he forced out another old bolt, wrapping that in copper wiring. His knowledge of electronics was fairly limited, but one learned a few things when they fought in a war and had travelled parts of the galaxy like he had. Picking up his stool, he promptly slammed it against the wall, causing a loud _thump_ that he hoped had echoed upstairs.

"Hey, guard!" Spartus shouted, his voice hoarse. He smashed the stool against the wall again, causing it to break into several pieces. "Come on down here! I need some help!"

As expected, the guard upstairs did come down. He looked annoyed as he made his way down the stairs, one hand at the pistol at his hip. Spartus put both bolts into his mouth, clenching them between his teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable.

"What the hell are you doing, lizard?" The guard stopped at the foot of the stairs, taking a moment to peer into the darkness. His free-hand went for the light switch, and he promptly flicked it.

Sparks flew from the wiring where the missing bulb had been. Spartus' head filled with fire and his body promptly escaped his control, his muscles contracting and shaking uncontrollably as he fell to the floor. He would have screamed, but his teeth remained clenched around the smouldering rusted bolts. His whole mouth felt as if it were burning, and it likely was. He emitted a loud groan before the world around him seemed to fade away, his head feeling as if it were about to split in half. After a moment, his grip on the bolts slackened and they dropped from between his teeth, leaving him lying on the floor, curled up and shaking, his face feeling as if it had been ripped clean off of his skull.

The other lights in the cellar failed, and likely so did any upstairs. The guard walked up to him, seeing him lying sprawled on the ground. He turned and left the room hurriedly, likely to fetch help.

Spartus was only half-conscious when the guard returned about a minute later with two others. One of them freed him of his chains and two hoisted him up onto his feet. He remained unsteady, and so allowed the guards to carry him out of the cellar. As his senses returned, he found he had the most terrible headache.

Upstairs, things were strangely frantic. Guards were moving about, as if on alert, and Lockwood could be heard barking commands from somewhere nearby. The guards brought Spartus into the living area, where Lockwood was, and deposited him onto the floor in front of the collector. He looked worried, distracted even, so when he saw Spartus he did not appear immediately interested in whatever the alien had done now. It would not be the first time he had been brought before Lockwood, after having stepped out of line.

"What's he done?" Lockwood looked to the guards. "Is he the reason the power went out?" The room was bathed only in natural light from the windows, given the fact that it was about two in the afternoon.

"He was fiddling with the lights downstairs," one of the guards said. "I think he electrocuted himself."

Lockwood looked down at Spartus, who was now on his knees. He returned the human's gaze, managing a smile despite his groggy state.

"Is this true?" Lockwood asked.

"Yeah," Spartus replied. He looked around, noticing that a number of the guards appeared to have armed themselves with more than the standard pistols. Something was going on, this much was apparent. "What's going on, Edmund? You in trouble?"

Lockwood frowned. He did not like it when his alien captive called him 'Edmund', nor did he like the way Spartus was smirking at him now. It was as if he knew something that Lockwood did not, and when one had an alien prisoner then this was the last thing they would want. What had he been doing down in the cellar? What was he playing at, trying to cause a power blackout?

"It's none of your concern," Lockwood replied. From his pocket, he took out the remote that controlled the implant in Spartus' brain. With only a simple dial, he could determine how much pain the alien felt and for how long. A means of control, and an admittedly effective one, but right now it was what Spartus wanted him to use. He had to be sure what he had done to himself had worked, and there was only one way for him to find out.

"It will be, if whatever trouble's going on gets here," Spartus replied. Slowly, he rose to his feet, somewhat unsteadily. He felt like he was recovering from his shock, despite his splitting headache. He flexed his fingers, hearing a few of the knuckles audibly crack. The guards at either side of him retained their grips upon his arms. As for Lockwood, he adjusted the dial on the remote, if only to cause him to kneel back down. Spartus winced, expecting a stab of pain to shoot through his skull. When it did not, he smiled the most satisfied smile he could. A wave of relief and sheer gratification washed over him then, made all the better by the confused grimace that Lockwood gave.

He adjusted the dial, pushing it up to a higher setting. Nothing happened. Spartus remained standing, with his electrocution-induced headache the only pain he could feel. Looking Lockwood right in the eyes, he continued smiling, all the while a horrified expression played across the old man's face.

"Whatever trouble you've got coming," Spartus began, as he forced himself free from the grip of the guards at either side of him. "You've got a whole lot more right here."

"What are you going to do?" Lockwood took a step back, dropping the remote to the floor. Spartus stood his ground, thinking of all the things he could do with his newfound freedom.

"Firstly, I'm going to kill you." He pointed a finger at Lockwood. "And then I'm going to get my favourite jacket back. Sound fair?"

Lockwood shook his head. No, it did not sound fair, not to him.

"Don't just stand there," he ordered, looking at the guards. "Do something! Stop him!"

Immediately the guards went to grab his arms again. Spartus batted one of them away, sending him into the floor through sheer strength. The other one grabbed his left arm, but Spartus swivelled his right arm around and sent a fist right into the guard's face. The guard's head snapped back and he went stumbling against a nearby sofa, falling over the back of it before landing in a heap on the floor. Spartus looked to Lockwood, who had turned and started to run for the room's exit. He was shouting at the other guards, essentially putting out the call for everyone to stop the rogue alien. Spartus saw about half a dozen armed guards rush into the room, yet whereas most might have suspected they had bitten off more than they could chew, he only smiled and relished the thought of a proper fight, after all this time spent as a prisoner. He had about five seconds before the guards rushed him. None shot at him, they likely wanted to keep him alive, if only because Lockwood still maintained some hope of getting him back under control and locked up.

Spartus had no desire to see himself locked back up into the cellar. And he certainly had no intention of losing this fight. While Lockwood backed away, the nearest guards put aside their guns. Three of them withdrew retractable batons. They moved in quickly in a sort of pincer-move, with two moving on his flanks and another from straight ahead. The one in front lunged for him, and the one on his left followed quickly, seeking to catch him when his attention was directed to the one in front of him. An old trick, one Spartus had long since stopped falling for.

He reached out a hand to the one on the left as he closed in, grabbing his right arm and pulling him close, spinning him around so that he came face-to-face with the one in front as he brought his baton across in a wide swing. He hit his friend instead, the metal shaft connecting with the man's skull with an audible _thwack_. He fell limp in Spartus' grip and the alien let him go, leaving him to fall to the floor with a bleeding gash in his forehead. The two in front of him lunged quickly, one of them getting a blow in on his left arm. It was only a glancing blow, one he barely felt, and Spartus quickly countered the follow-up before clutching the man's right arm and bringing it down hard at an awkward angle. There was a loud crack as bones broke and the guard screamed, a jagged end of bone bursting out of his elbow, followed by a healthy spurt of blood. Spartus let him stumble backwards, only to be followed by three more guards.

The one on Spartus' right seemed to reconsider his approach and instead stayed back a few steps, baton at the ready. The others pointed their guns on him, all the while Lockwood watched from the doorway of the living room. Finally, Spartus moved for the guard nearest, who went in for a high blow that he countered by putting one forearm in the path of the man's arms, nullifying the incoming strike completely. While he stumbled, Spartus delivered a sharp jab to his nose, the cartilage underneath emitting a satisfying crunch as it gave way under the force of the blow. He followed this with an equally quick and powerful attack that caught the guard in the throat, sending him falling to the floor gasping for breath while blood poured out of his nostrils.

"Don't shoot him! I want him alive!" Lockwood sounded flustered, understandably. Still, he remained out of reach, likely holding some hope that his men would be successful in subduing the alien. Spartus found himself rushed upon by three more guards, and he stood his ground, letting them come.

Spartus began to move ahead, going after Lockwood. The three guards in front of him were a nuisance, really, and two of them moved in on him in an attempt to take him by the sides. One pistol-whipped him across the shoulder before Spartus grabbed his arms, using the man's momentum to twist them and send him face-first into the floor. The other one went to tackle him, but Spartus grabbed him, grinding his feet into the floor before he threw the man over the nearby couch and into a glass display case. The front of it shattered, as did a few of the shelves, and numerous odds and ends fell down all over him, along with multitudes of broken glass.

Lockwood stepped out of the room. Spartus followed him, and the pair raced down a corridor to the back of the house. Lockwood stumbled into an adjoining room, and before Spartus could follow him, another four guards appeared, rushing inside from the backyard. All four began to encroach upon him, armed with batons, crowding the narrow hallway.

Spartus stood his ground. He had faced worse odds before, and he was brimming with adrenaline. He was enjoying this, the sort of blood fever that came when one was in a fight. He wanted to hurt Lockwood and his hired goons, and he would do whatever it took to fulfil this wish. He readied himself as the four guards charged at him, and the first one within reach received a blow to the jaw that sent him reeling, stumbling against the wall where he knocked a vase off of a mantelpiece before it smashed upon the floor. It had probably been a priceless antique, the thought of which made Spartus smile. Breaking Lockwood's things would be almost as fun as breaking the man himself.

The other three guards were on him, striking him with their metal batons. Brief stings of pain wracked his forearms and shoulders as he put his arms up to defend himself against the blows. Putting his head low, he felt a few strikes hit him in the stomach, pain shooting up his torso. He charged forwards, knocking aside one of the guards before he jumped into an adjoining room. Lowering his arms, he saw a guard standing at one end, gun raised. Spartus ducked and tackled him before he had a chance to shoot, taking him towards the window at the end. With his sheer strength, Spartus lifted him and sent him flying through the window, the whole thing shattering upon impact.

The guards from outside came after him, even the one who had knocked down the vase. At the other end of the room, Lockwood had opened up a cabinet, and he was frantically searching through the items within.

Spartus threw aside the first guard who went for him, sending him head-first into a liquor cabinet at the nearby wall. He landed on the floor, head buried in the broken front of the cabinet, whiskey and brandy pouring over him from a number of broken bottles. The other three moved in to surround him. Spartus threw a punch at one, only for him to duck underneath it. He moved in low, trying to strike him at the stomach. Spartus caught the baton with one hand, twisting it out of the man's grasp, before he spun it around in a quick, fluid motion and sent the business end of it into the man's face. Blood flew out of the gash that opened up and the guard fell backwards, landing on a glass coffee table that shattered under his weight. The other two seemed to hang back for a moment, as Spartus held the baton in a ready pose, waiting for them to make the first move. Both men looked wary of him, frightened even, an expected easy fight having turned into anything but.

Spartus took a step forward and the guards backed away. They seemed at a loss on what to do, whether to attack him or wait. So, instead of waiting for them to make up their minds, Spartus instead lunged forwards and brought his baton around in an upswing that caught one guard on the chin, knocking his head back and dislodging a few teeth that came flying out of his mouth, along with a fair amount of blood. He fell backwards on an armchair behind him, landing in a neat seated position with his head lulled to one side, blood trickling from his mouth. The other one turned and ran, giving Spartus the brief opportunity to kick him in the backside as he went by. He happily did so, feeling a sense of elation at having beaten off Lockwood's somewhat inefficient hired help.

Finally, he turned his attention to the man himself. From the cabinet, Lockwood had retrieved the alien's compressed gravity pistol. Inside that same cabinet, Spartus sighted his favourite jacket.

Lockwood pointed the weapon towards him, his face a stern mask, his grip on the weapon almost perfectly level. Despite everything, Lockwood did not have the shakes and he in fact seemed almost calm.

"It pains me to have to kill such a prized specimen," he said, his voice grim. "But you're out of control, Scales."

"The name's _Spartus_." He knew he could not cross the distance to Lockwood fast enough to catch the man before he fired the gun. A weapon like that would be devastating in close quarters and Spartus very much wanted to keep all his limbs. He wondered if Lockwood was aware of the damage potential of that gun. More than likely, he had probably tested it a number of times after capturing him.

"You killed my brother," Spartus added.

"All in the name of science, dear boy." Lockwood's aim did not falter. "You're not from around these parts. You have no rights here. Officially, you don't exist. I can do what I very well please with creatures like you. Tell me, what are you going to do, out in the real world?"

Spartus did not say anything. He considered his next move carefully, baton in hand.

* * *

The Doctor and Abigail had arrived at the estate not long before Spartus' breakout, and Abigail had parked their vehicle some distance from the perimeter walls. The pair had proceeded on foot, with them making use of the partially broken brick column the Doctor had used earlier in order to get into the estate. In the garden, the pair had made their way to the outside of the main building. For whatever reason, the few guards on patrol outside had raced into the house through the rear door, as if some sort of emergency had broken out. The Doctor guessed that it was likely because of Lockwood ordering any help he could get, given the crisis that had unfolded at the fortress. If he was here, then they could arrest him and hopefully reach some kind of agreement with the Sea Devils. An optimistic view, even for the Doctor, but it was worth a try. If he could show the Sea Devils that what had happened to their leader had been due to the actions of one greedy man, then perhaps he could prevent any further fighting.

They stopped at the wall, amongst some shrubs and ferns. Abigail was dressed in a black jumper and snug fitting jeans. The bulge of a concealed pistol was visible at her waist, just underneath the somewhat long jumper. The Doctor observed the lack of guards ahead, for if they were not out here they would be inside, thereby making any attempt to actually move around inside the house a lot more difficult. Above, the sky was thick with grey clouds, and a light drizzle had started in earnest. A cold wind blew across the valley, tinged with the scent of saltwater and seaweed.

"Now what?" Abigail asked. She sounded a lot more serious than she had been on the bus. Likely she had dropped any pretence of being a naïve young reporter, and had set herself firmly into 'UNIT operative' mode. "Are we going in?"

"We're going to go in, but there's going to be no shooting," the Doctor said. "I think there's been enough of that for today, wouldn't you say?"

"I wasn't planning on shooting anybody, Doc," Abigail replied.

The Doctor was about to correct her as to his name, but both of their attention went to the window further along as it smashed outwards in spectacular fashion. A guard had come through it, head first, as if someone had thrown him clean out of the house. He landed in a heap in the garden, emitting a pained groan but otherwise remaining still.

"Looks like we are going in," the Doctor said. He stood up and made his way for the door, no longer concerned with getting sighted by any of the guards. Abigail followed him, and she pulled out her pistol, a compact SIG P228. The pair made their way through the rear double doors, entering the small lobby beyond. Shouting could be heard from a nearby adjoining room, indicating some sort of commotion in progress. Whatever was going on, the Doctor walked right into the trouble without a second thought. Abigail hung back with her pistol raised.

By the time the Doctor entered the room, Spartus had made short work of the guards inside. The window at one end was broken and a handful of guards lay about the place, mostly unconscious, including one who had seemingly landed in an armchair and who looked to have simply fallen asleep. That view was ruined somewhat by the presence of the blood running down his chin.

"You've been busy, haven't you, Spartus?" The Doctor looked to the alien, who held a metal baton in one hand. His eyes were set towards the other end of the room, and the Doctor turned to find Lockwood standing there, some kind of exotic alien gun in one hand which he had aimed at his former captive. "Looks like your prized specimen is loose, Captain. How much more damage are you going to do to inter-species relations?"

"Doctor, of course you'd show up," Lockwood said. He shifted his aim towards the Doctor. It was far from the first time someone had pointed a gun at him, so he did not even react to it. He simply kept watching the man, his face almost passive. "Here to tell me how morally 'wrong' I am? Come to sit on your high horse and tell us all the wonders of pacifism?"

"No." The Doctor shook his head slowly. Behind him, Abigail stepped into the room, gun raised. She aimed it at Lockwood, who was the more prominent threat given the weapon he wielded. "I'm actually here to watch your little world fall apart. You didn't think Spartus here would sit back and remain content as your slave, did you?"

"He's an alien, Doctor." Lockwood practically spat the words. "He has no rights here. Just like you. You're an alien, aren't you, Doctor? A bloody, stinking alien, sticking your nose into business that isn't yours. And you've got people daft enough to follow you." He glanced at Abigail, shifting the aim of the alien weapon to her. "I should have captured you when I had the chance. Dissected you. The wonders we could do for medical science with a body like yours."

"I'm flattered," the Doctor quipped.

"Edmund Lockwood," Abigail announced. She stepped forwards, passing the Doctor. "I'm placing you under arrest. You will come willingly into UNIT custody or I will use force. The choice is simple."

"Yes, yes, UNIT. The Doctor's little helpers." Lockwood sounded positively disgusted. Before he could say anything more, Spartus moved and suddenly the baton he had been holding left his grip. It shot through the air like a rocket, hitting Lockwood in the shoulder. The force of the impact made him yelp and he stumbled backwards, dropping the gun. Within moments Spartus had bounded across the room, grabbing the alien gun up from the floor as he moved before he grabbed the Captain around the neck and held him firmly in a headlock. Lockwood struggled against his grip, but Spartus' strength was considerable.

"Spartus…" The Doctor said. Spartus looked at him, his face scrunched into a look of rage.

"Don't you dare ruin this, Doctor," Spartus said. He pressed the barrel of the exotic alien pistol against Lockwood's temple. "I've been waiting to do this for a long time."

The Doctor went to take a step forwards, but Spartus pointed the gun his way. He stopped, holding his hands in front of him, showing that he was unarmed.

"Compressed gravity pistol," the Doctor noted. "Thirty-ninth century model. Those are illegal in most places. And times. I wouldn't use that when Lockwood's so close to you."

"Noted." Spartus slipped the gun under his waistband and instead tightened his grip around the man's neck. Lockwood went to speak, but only a grunt escaped his mouth. His face was going red as he struggled to breathe past Spartus' vice-like grasp. The alien was going to strangle him, or break his neck.

Abigail remained still nearby, with the gun pointed at Spartus. She seemed uncertain as to what she should do, understandable given the situation.

"Spartus, this isn't going to fix anything."

"He killed my brother," Spartus snapped. "He deserves nothing less."

The Doctor raised his brows slightly, intrigued. The brother in question was likely the specimen Lockwood had told him about earlier, the one that had been dissected and from which some kind of patent had been placed on an enzyme capable of speeding up the healing process. Spartus had not come alone, and his brother had been killed in much the same way Lockwood had attempted to do to the Sea Devil leader. Obviously, the man was not a stranger to dissecting exotic 'specimens'. The Doctor could understand Spartus' anger well, but he knew also that revenge was unlikely to make him feel any better.

"Spartus, I know how you feel. Trust me on that. But killing Lockwood, it isn't going to bring your brother back. It isn't going to change anything, really. Just another dead man, and there's been enough killing today."

Spartus seemed to consider his words. Even so, he did not loosen his grip on the man, and appeared unlikely to release him.

"Your brother, Spartus. What was his name?" The Doctor took a step closer. Spartus did not react, and instead seemed to stare into the distance for a moment, as if in deep contemplation.

"Lasthan." He spoke slowly, likely sifting through the many memories he had of his brother.

"And you think you would honour his memory by killing this man?" The Doctor tilted his head slightly, gazing at Spartus expectantly. Lockwood was not someone the Doctor cared much for, but he would not allow more killing to occur. Not today, when there had already been too much.

"I honour his memory in my own way. Killing this human, it's for myself. No one else." He pressed his arm tighter against Lockwood's neck. The man began to gasp, choking, as Spartus' powerful grip began to press tighter against his windpipe.

"Don't talk like that. Don't ever talk like that." The Doctor allowed the passion to resonate in his voice, and Spartus peered at him with uncertain eyes, as if whatever he had said was having some kind of effect. "I know how you feel. I've been there. And I can tell you right now, the further you go down that road, the harder it will be to turn around. You'll reach a point where the things you have done, the shadow they've created, hangs over your every move. You will have to live with all that you've done, and when the realisation hits, then every day from then on becomes harder to live than the last. You'll look at yourself in the mirror and you'll want to do nothing more than harm the face looking back at you. You kill a man in cold blood, and there's no going back. It'll take centuries to pull yourself out of that mire. I don't know about you, but I've had the time to change. You may not."

Spartus eased his grip on Lockwood. The look of anger on his face had eased somewhat, and his eyes were still wide with fury but tears had begun to well up in them. He unceremoniously threw Lockwood against the nearby couch, leaving the old man to gasp for breath. Spartus looked to the Doctor, wiping his eyes with one hand.

"You win this time, Doctor," Spartus said. He moved over to the cabinet where his jacket was stored, and pulled it out before retrieving the padded under-suit that went with it. Swiftly, he put the rugged clothing on, before strapping on the specially made holster he had for his gravity pistol. With that around his waist, he slid the gun into its rightful place and turned to Lockwood. "Do you need him, or can I kill him outside?"

"We might need him," the Doctor replied, watching Lockwood. The old man had risen back to his feet, a red mark at his neck and his breathing only just returning to its normal rate. "He did antagonize a bunch of already disgruntled Sea Devils."

"Sea Devils?" Spartus frowned.

"Earth Reptiles. Hibernating lizards who used to rule the Earth. It's a long story that spans several million years."

"Right." Spartus swallowed. He was still naturally very angry, and his hands visibly shook as he did up his jacket. It was a greyish sort of thing, thick and rugged, and it carried a noticeable bare patch at one shoulder that may have once bore an emblem of some kind, one that had been removed some time ago, whether that had been done by Spartus or someone else. The Doctor got the impression that it may not have been Spartus' jacket to begin with. Nor was the gravity pistol his, at least it had not been at first. He had probably acquired it, whether it be through theft or killing the previous owner. It was clear that Spartus carried a lot of scars, both mentally and physically, and in a way the Doctor could empathise completely. Spartus was just at a far earlier point from whatever conflict he had faced, whereas the Doctor had had a very long time to consider what he had done and come to terms with it all.

"Are we done here?" Abigail asked. She lowered her gun, and the Doctor turned to her, having almost forgotten that she had been tagging along. "We should get Lockwood and leave."

Lockwood had walked over to the smashed liquor cabinet. From inside, he had pulled out an intact bottle of bourbon and a small shot glass to go with it. Seemingly unfazed by everything that had just occurred, he poured himself a drink and quickly downed the liquor. The others turned to watch him, and Lockwood, apparently in a downbeat mood, promptly poured himself another glass of bourbon and drank that in a quick gulp as well.

"Is this it, then?" Lockwood asked.

"Is what?" Spartus stepped forwards, likely rearing up to lunge for the guy again. The Doctor put a hand to his shoulder, causing him to stop where he was.

"You're going to lock me up," Lockwood said. "I'm going to spend years in prison, aren't I?"

"If you're lucky," the Doctor said, flatly.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Lockwood put the bottle of bourbon aside, along with the shot glass. He remained by the liquor cabinet, an unconscious and somewhat bloodied guard lying at his feet. "I only intended to help humanity, Doctor. If that means cutting open a 'Sea Devil' or two, then that's what I'll do."

"And destroy any chance at peaceful negotiations?"

"Oh, Doctor, they can't win, can they?" Lockwood almost laughed, as if the thought amused him. "There's only a handful of them and several billion human beings in comparison. We can bomb their shelters when they're found, kill them while they sleep. They aren't human, they haven't any rights. Neither does Scales here. Even you, Doctor, with your special status with UNIT, technically doesn't have the same rights as an actual human being."

"What a wonderful view of things, Captain." The Doctor did not even try to conceal his sarcasm, nor his distaste, for what Lockwood was saying. "Of all the people that could have found an Earth Reptile shelter, and it had to be you."

"I am a discoverer of unique things, Doctor. I've been an explorer and collector for most of my life. Of course it was going to be me, no one else had the determination or the resources to do it. Except maybe you, perhaps."

Lockwood reached into the liquor cabinet again. From inside, presumably taped to the top of the inside of the cabinet, he pulled out an old revolver. He did so in a flash, turning it on the trio ahead of him. With his thumb, he cocked the hammer, pointing it directly at the Doctor. Spartus audibly growled at the sight, whereas Lockwood only smiled in his usually amiable way.

"Sorry, Doctor, but no one's taking me in to UNIT, not even you." He kept the gun level, his grip unusually steady for a man of his age. "So, I think we can sort something out. In this case, you three let me leave, otherwise I'm going to start shooting. And I'll make sure to shoot you at least three times, Doctor. Just to make doubly sure you die for real. Tell me, can Time Lords survive a bullet to the brain?"

The Doctor did not say anything. He remained still, his eyes set on Lockwood, his mind going through the options open to him. The gun did not worry him, it was Spartus he was more concerned about. He heard the alien take a few steps forward, but Lockwood turned the gun in his direction.

"One more step, Scales, and I'll shoot. You might think you can survive it and keep coming, but I never got round to finding out if you can survive a bullet to the brain. Much like the Doctor, here. Presumably it's the most effective way of killing something like you."

Abigail raised her gun then. Lockwood turned his towards her, though neither of them did anything.

"Shoot him," Spartus barked at her.

"She won't shoot me," Lockwood said. "She's too well trained for that." He shifted his aim towards the Doctor. "If she shoots me, I'll shoot the Doctor. And, as a member of UNIT, it is her duty to protect the Doctor at any cost." With this, Lockwood began to step backwards. "Go on then, Miss UNIT goon, shoot me and see how well it works for you. You might think you can take me out quick, but you underestimate the human body and mind if that's the case. She's gone through the training. She knows that nothing short of a headshot will minimise the threat to the Doctor."

"Abigail," the Doctor said, glancing at her. He could see right away that she was conflicted, and her grip on her pistol was shaking slightly. "Don't shoot him. It's not worth it."

"Not worth it?" Spartus practically shouted this from behind them. He began to rush forwards, his powerful legs carrying him almost halfway across the room before Lockwood fired. The shot was loud within the confines of the living room, and Spartus stumbled and fell as the shot clipped his left arm. Right away, Abigail returned fire, Lockwood ducking as he ran for the smashed open window further ahead. Part of the wall near him exploded and the Doctor found himself hitting the floor as the exchange of bullets started.

Lockwood reached the window and threw himself out of it, all while Abigail continued shooting, causing parts of the window frame to erupt outwards, sending splinters of wood flying. Spartus was on his feet, seemingly unaffected by the bloody gash that had been put on his left arm. He rushed for the window, pulling out his gravity pistol as he went. The Doctor got up and raced after him, swatting aside his gun wielding arm before he could fire.

"After everything, and you'd shoot him in the back?" The Doctor demanded, turning to him. Spartus gave him a look that spoke volumes as to what he felt about the interruption. Lockwood was moving quickly for a man in his early sixties, crossing the back garden of the estate with surprising speed, with only the occasional stumble.

"Think about what you're doing, Spartus," the Doctor continued. "You kill him, and just how are you going to feel? I can tell you right now, you won't feel any different. Killing a sad old man isn't going to solve the Sea Devil problem."

"And what will solve the Sea Devil problem?" Abigail was the one to ask this, approaching the pair from behind.

The Doctor turned around to face her. He realised that he did not have an answer for her.


	17. Experiments

**Experiments**

Yvonne Krieger had woken up cold and alone in a small, metal room with no windows and a door that was firmly set into the wall ahead. The Sea Devils, or whatever they called themselves, had locked her away in here, and they had even had the nerve to strip her of her clothes and leave her in little but her undergarments. More frightened than she had ever been before, she had little other option but to sit in the corner and hold her knees up to her chest, trying her best to retain some of her warmth. The floor itself was wet, puddled in places, likely a result of the many years this place had gone without proper maintenance. Her heart pounded as she sat practically naked and alone, left to contend with whatever the Sea Devils had planned for her. It was perhaps the ultimate irony, for her to have been the one to operate on the one they had captured, only for them to capture her. Were they going to cut her open? Dissect her? It was a very real possibility, and one she found herself thinking about constantly.

There was a camera here. Some sort of spherical shaped thing in the far corner, at the ceiling, with a visible lens. They were watching her, which was to be expected. Above her, there was a ventilation duct with a noticeable retractable hatch. The room itself was sealed, save for the duct that continued to allow air to flow inside. What did they intend to do with her? A room like this, sealed as it was, only spelled trouble to her. Experimentation, even. The sort of dangerous experiments that would require the site to be sealed off from the outside.

* * *

It had taken some doing, but one of the scouting parties had found a conduit for the human power supply running through the ground not far from the shelter. After some work, and a great deal of trial and error, Gasrava had successfully hooked it into the shelter's main power systems. The energy they drew from the admittedly primitive electrical supply the humans had set up for their nearby settlement was only enough to get the more basic operations running within the shelter. They were still short of what they needed to raise their sleeping brethren safely.

Gasrava, unlike most Sea Devils, was a scientist. All that warrior stuff, and all the honour-driven nonsense it entailed, had never appealed to him. Even when he had been young, when his brothers and sisters had been play-fighting with toy swords and the like, Gasrava had instead gone for more intellectual pursuits. Reading books of their history and about their technology, even when he had likely been too young to properly understand them, had been his chief hobby for his childhood years. It had paid off in the end, as he had become the chief scientist for this shelter, answerable only to Field Marshall Karva and his second-in-command, Havartiss. Now, Havartiss was the younger and more detestable of the two, with a clear disdain for scientists. Karva, on the other hand, was a leader he could respect. And this had been the case until his most recent order, when Karva had outright demanded him to retrieve one of his less than successful experiments, the results of which had been stored in an airtight chamber for as long as they had been asleep.

It was not the most stable of things. Contained in a sealed canister, Gasrava had gingerly handled one of the ten or so they had stored away. There were no warning labels as such, there did not need to be. Given how few of them there were, and the fact that they had been locked up for a very long time, there had not really been a need for any warnings. Gasrava knew what it was, he had created it after all. He had been one of the foremost geneticists of his time, although given how far back his 'time' was now the whole phrase seemed meaningless.

Gasrava entered the main laboratory with the canister in his hands, walking through a door that lead into an adjoining store room. Thankfully the shifting of the tectonic plates over the aeons had not damaged anything in the store room, leaving the items within in almost pristine condition. Even so, he had to check over the canister shell, as even the sturdiest of alloys would decay over the period his people had been sleeping for. Setting the canister upon a bench in the centre of the room, Gasrava looked to the monitors and computer terminals ahead of him. Two provided differing angles into the sealed specimen room where the ape female was being kept. She had done what so many of her species did when faced with the unknown and brimming with fear: she had curled up in the corner and had spent much of her captivity staring at the floor.

Gasrava felt little for the apes. He did not like them much, but he did not hate them either. In a way, he could respect what they had done during the time his people had been asleep. They had built a civilisation that seemingly covered most of the planet. Karva would not stand for it, of course. He wanted a way to be rid of the apes, and he wanted it as soon as possible. So far their attempts to contact other shelters had failed, mainly down to their power problems. That, and their communications equipment was not faring well after millions of years of disuse.

"Gasrava!" The familiar voice of the Field Marshall caught the scientist off-guard. He almost dropped the canister in fright, only to quickly catch it in his grasp before setting it gently upon the bench in front of him. He turned around, watching as the bulky and broad-shouldered form of Field Marshall Karva approached. He seemed very active for someone who had just recently had their torso cut open, apparently by the very human they had locked up here. "Anything to report?"

"No, Field Marshall." He watched as Karva brushed by him and picked up the metal cylinder. Gasrava gulped, hoping that the Field Marshall's grip was good.

"Is this it?"

"Yes, and it's very unstable, Field Marshall. Do be careful."

"Does it work?"

"I don't know yet." Gasrava took the canister from his grip. "I will need to find that out. The apes, their genetic structure has changed. Evolved, obviously. It did not work too well when I first tried it, and I have not much hope it will work now."

"Then test it," Karva ordered. "On the one inside."

"You don't want to interrogate her?"

Karva snorted in derision.

"I will. But while I do, I want you to prepare that gas for testing. I want results, Gasrava, and I want them soon." Karva's voice was grave. Gasrava had found Karva's overall mood to be wholly unpredictable ever since he had come back from his run-in with the apes. Either his long sleep had affected his mind, or his encounter with the apes had done it. Or both. Gasrava was a scientist, but not a psychologist.

As the Field Marshall walked to the door into the test chamber, Gasrava turned his attention to the canister. From a cabinet under the bench, he retrieved a set of protective gloves and a mask that fit snugly over his snout. With that done, he began to unscrew the top of the canister, hoping that the inner shell had not decayed too badly. From the metal tube, he retrieved a slim transparent cylinder filled with a murky blue-grey liquid. It had been preserved almost perfectly, even after all this time, although the edges of the canister showed some evidence of minor decay.

The door to the test chamber hissed open and Karva stepped inside. The ape female recoiled back away from him as he approached, but he had no trouble lunging for her and grabbing her by the neck, hoisting her up so that her head was level with his. He pinned her against the wall, the two practically face-to-face. Gasrava tried to keep his attention focused on his delicate work with the canister, but he could not help to watch as the Field Marshall kept the ape woman pinned up and off her feet. She was practically whimpering now, an understandable reaction, and for all his professional distancing from his work, he could not help but feel some degree of sympathy for the woman. Somewhere deep down, he did doubt what they were doing. It was a doubt that was quelled quickly by his beliefs in his work, and their goal of reclaiming the planet. What was the fate of one ape woman, really, if it meant they could further their own goals?

The door slid shut behind the Field Marshall. Gasrava did not watch the monitors, if only because he wished to remain ignorant of whatever happened within.

* * *

"It is curious, how this has come to pass, is it not?" Karva kept his grip on the ape woman's neck tight, but not tight enough to completely choke her. She was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes, although it was not simply fear he saw in them. There was some degree of humiliation there, no doubt a result of her current situation. "You had me at your mercy, so it is only fair that I have my chance to do as I please with you. Does that not sound fair? You do have a concept of fairness, after all. We have learned much in the short time we have been awake, and it has been enough to make us all the more confident in the sincerity of our goal to rid the world of your race. Elevated vermin, livestock that has gone above its station." Karva tilted his head slightly. The woman said nothing, emitting only an odd squeaking noise whilst tears streamed down its face. A curious thing, those streaks of water that streamed from the creature's eyes. His people were not capable of that sort of display of emotion. It was likely for the best, as it was a blatant display of weakness.

"I won't be cutting you open," he said. "That would be too good for you. We have something else, something I feel would be oddly fitting for a scientist such as yourself."

The human woman said nothing. Karva lessened his grip upon her, allowing her to take deeper breaths.

"I have some questions I would like you to answer," Karva continued. "First and foremost, my people require a powerful supply of energy. Do you know where one of those can be found?"

The woman said nothing. He backhanded her with his free-hand, causing her head to jerk back against the wall. Blood and spittle flew out of her mouth and her eyes continued to stream.

"Please answer the question," Karva said. "It will mean less pain for yourself."

"Machara," the woman croaked. It was a name that meant little to Karva and he went to hit her again, until she continued talking. "Machara, further north." She winced, expecting a blow, though it did not come. Karva lowered his hand and instead made a mental note for himself to remember this name and investigate it further. It was certainly the name of a location, or this woman may simply have been lying to save herself any further torment. Not that the pain would end for her anytime soon, if what Gasrava was preparing was anything like how he remembered it.

"Secondly, the man who captured me," Karva said. "Where is he?"

The woman stared at him for a moment, as if the question had stumped her. However, as Karva reared up another blow, she spoke hurriedly, as if only just remembering the information.

"Lockwood estate. It's northeast of here." She lowered her head, staring at the floor, unable to look him in the eyes. Regardless, Karva put a hand to her chin, lifting her head up so that she was looking straight at him.

"You have been much help, ape," he said. With a thumb, he wiped away a little of the blood that was trickling from her mouth. "You may prove useful to us, after all." This last sentence was only partially true, as her usefulness would only be measured by how well her body coped with the upcoming test.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, after Karva had emerged from the test chamber, both Havartiss and Livakresh came to the laboratory. Karva wanted them here to see the test, to give them some idea of what would become of the verminous apes that swarmed the surface of the planet. As for Gasrava, he had brought down the metal shield that had covered the thick transparent window on one side of the chamber, allowing them to look inside at the vulnerable prisoner. She had withdrawn into a corner, head down, bruises evident on her pale flesh. Gasrava had looked uneasily at Karva now and again, something that Havartiss had taken note of. Was the scientist having second thoughts about the whole thing? Perhaps, but it was not his place, nor did he have the clout to complain, or develop a conscience. Havartiss had buried his doubts some time ago, as he had been on the surface. He had tasted the pollution in the air. The apes had ruined the planet, and he would be pleased to see them gone. Whatever plan Karva had to get rid of them, he had a feeling it was exactly why he had been called here. A 'demonstration', really, a display of power by Karva to show his subordinates that he had a plan.

"Field Marshall," Havartiss said. Karva stood quietly to one side near the bench, watching the test chamber. It was a one-way mirror, so the ape woman inside would not be able to see any of her observers. She probably knew she was being watched. If she did, she remained still, knees drawn up to her chest, head down.

"What is it, Commander?" Karva turned to his second-in-command. His face was impassive, although the look in his eyes was anything but. There was something wild in them, something dangerous, and the way they glared at Havartiss made the younger Sea Devil uneasy.

"What kind of 'demonstration' is this to be?"

"One of Gasrava's many projects," Karva replied. His mouth crept into a smile, bearing his pointed teeth. "Just wait, Commander. You will see what I mean."

Gasrava had moved to the window looking into the test chamber. With the canister in his hands, he pulled open a small hatch at the base of the window and slid the canister into the small hole behind it. Closing it, he proceeded to tap a few buttons on a panel next to it. Immediately, a hissing noise could be heard, muffled as it was, and the prisoner within the test chamber looked up, alert. She had obviously realised something was going on, and her eyes widened as a bluish smoke started to waft into the chamber from the canister Gasrava had slid through the hatch. The scientist backed away from the window and he hurriedly slid off his gloves, as if fearful that whatever he had handled had come off on them. He threw them into a disposal chute nearby, where the gloves disappeared, heading deep into the bowels of the shelter.

"What is it?" Livakresh asked. She took a few steps forward, eyeing the monitors on the bank of computers before them.

"One of Gasrava's attempts to make the apes into something more useful, far back when they lived in trees and before we went to sleep," Karva said. His eyes never left the test chamber window, or the panicking prisoner within. "What was the word you used, Gasrava? 'Muta' something or other?"

"Mutagenic virus," Gasrava said. "Not in the traditional sense, of course. Viruses can take weeks to incubate. This one acts almost immediately. And it is accelerated even more so, by being converted into a gaseous form for rapid and widespread deployment, if only short-ranged."

"What does it do?" Havartiss asked.

"Watch," Karva said. He continued looking into the test chamber. The ape woman inside was beginning to noticeably cough and sputter. She tumbled against the glass as the gas shrouded her, and Havartiss watched with growing unease as her skin began to noticeably bulge and pulsate, as if something else was working its way underneath. Parts of her flesh began to turn a dull grey in colour, all the while she stumbled and coughed. The screaming started a short while later, as parts of her skin began to tear away, blood running off every new gash that was created. Havartiss would have thought that the gas was causing her flesh to blister, but it was something more than that. There was a transformation taking place, and this much became clear with the appearance of noticeably scaly grey skin underneath what peeled away. Blood splattered against the window and the woman began to beat against the glass fruitlessly, leaving smears of blood in her wake. One hand went to her face, only for a large chunk of her cheek to tear away with ease, causing her to scream even louder. Underneath, uneven scaly skin grew in its place, and the entirety of her skull seemed to change shape with a sickening crunch that even Havartiss could hear through the glass. Her nose fell away, as did her hair, running off her in clumps along with a great deal of blood. Fins shot out of where her ears had been, and her eyes seemed to bulge, shifting into larger, yellower ones before the human, or what had been human, fell away from the window and hit the floor, twitching.

The gas faded quickly, likely an intentional element of its design. Karva walked up to the door, waiting for the all-clear light to switch on. He was certainly keen to oversee the results of the test, where as Havartiss and Livakresh remained where they were, not uttering a single word.

Finally, a green light flashed on and Karva opened the door. Havartiss followed him inside, as did Gasrava, and the body they found did not resemble an ape as much as it had prior. Instead, what they saw, lying in a pool of blood and pieces of flesh and shards of bone was some sort of twisted abomination, baring features one would expect to see on a Sea Devil, with rough scaly flesh and fins. However, it had retained its more human shape, and patches of pale, smooth skin were visible on parts of the former human. The change had not occurred evenly, or even correctly for that matter, with one arm twisted at an awkward angle where bone had burst out of the elbow, and one eye was noticeably bigger than the other.

"What happened?" Havartiss finally said. He found the whole result disgusting. Gasrava had been playing with some dangerous things by the look of it.

"A rapid manipulation of the ape's genetic code," Gasrava explained. He knelt by the remains of the human woman, holding the mask to his face. Havartiss saw his anxiety and realised that he should be wearing some kind of protection, especially if their scientist was worried. "To turn it into something more like ourselves."

"That's abhorrent," Havartiss said. "The apes are beneath us, Gasrava. Why would we want them to be more like us?"

"Not perfectly, as you can see." Gasrava stood up. "The mutagen is fast-acting and dissipates quickly, but it is far from perfect. It kills its victims, as their bodies simply cannot survive the change. It requires far more work, to make for a successful transformation."

"My point is, why?" Havartiss glared at the scientist. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Why would we want to do this to the apes? Why would we want to taint our society with their savagery?"

"Because they would be slaves, Commander," Karva said, turning to his subordinate. "They would not be like us, not entirely. They would be more effective livestock, hybrids that would be unable to think for themselves and made to follow our commands. Gasrava and I intended to convert many of the apes this way, far back from before we went into hibernation, but as is evident from this test, the gas is far from perfect. Had this ape woman changed successfully, she would have been an unthinking savage, but with elements of our genetics to improve her strength and senses. A mindless drone for our control, to be put to use on any number of labour projects. It is all the more necessary now, as our civilisation is practically gone. Someone will need to do the rebuilding, and we will need a labour force to do it. The apes as they are will rebel and incite trouble, but if they were changed successfully, they would be easier to control and stronger as a result, making them much better for our uses."

Havariss thought the whole thing sounded mad. He did not say as much, for he did not think Karva would approve. The way the Field Marshall was watching him now seemed to indicate that their leader was very much aware of what he really felt. All the more reason for him to choose his next words carefully. He could not talk the Field Marshall out of using this gas, the warrior's mind had already been made up. Attempting to do so would only lead to an argument, one Havartiss would not be able to win.

"The apes cannot be kept as livestock now," Karva continued. "They are far too intelligent and dangerous for that. We will have to rein them in, and this gas is perfect for it. At the moment, in its unfinished form, the gas makes for an effective means of eliminating the apes."

"It is without honour," Havartiss countered. "A cowardly way to fight a war."

"We are outnumbered, Commander," Karva said. He narrowed his eyes, finding his second-in-command's disgust with the whole situation a problem, one he would need to put a stop to now. Havartiss knew how Karva thought, and the Field Marshall had always been very good at preventing bigger problems from arising by catching them early on. "If we intend to reclaim our world, we will need a means to eradicate as many of the apes as possible, and in a short space of time. This gas would be perfect to achieve that goal."

"Would it affect us? This gas, this virus?" Havartiss had noticed Gasrava's unease when handling the canister. Perhaps it was nothing more than a scientist's concern, but given what he had just witnessed Havartiss had a strong impression that there was something more to it. Karva, on the other hand, just smiled reassuringly at him.

"As long as we take the proper precautions, there should be little to be concerned about." It was a typical answer, one that was likely intended to ease whatever uncertainties Harvartiss may have had. It did not work, and the Commander found himself further disliking the whole scheme. They were outnumbered, this much was clear, and the humans were more than capable of killing them. Certainly they needed something to level the playing field, but was this really the answer? He had seen a lot of violence during his life, yet nothing quite like the transformation he had just witnessed.

"So it can harm us?" He countered.

"It dissipates quickly," Gasrava replied. "We can drop it over a wide area and move in a short while later. The gas itself will have gone by that point."

"As for these hybrid monsters, are they really controllable? It doesn't occur to me that they are."

"It needs refinement," Gasrava said. "But as for now, we have a way of killing large amounts of apes in a large area without needing to put ourselves in danger. That, to me, is a positive, no matter how unstable the gas itself may be. Given time, I will be able to refine it and turn it towards its originally intended use. As the Field Marshall said, we will need a labour force if we are to rebuild our civilisation, and the apes as they are won't be much help. I would say they would be positively rebellious."

Havartiss did not reply. The whole thing seemed off-putting to him, and he remembered what that strange ape had said, the one who had approached him in the fortress confidently, unaffected by the deaths of the others around it. That ape had said that if they started a war, they would be unlikely to win it. He had spoken sincerely, but Havartiss had known better than to take an ape's word on matters. Now, though, he could not help but think there was something in what the ape had said to him. A war was one thing, but using this gas would be an atrocity.

"Commander, arrange a scouting party," Karva ordered. His voice derailed the Commander's train of thought abruptly. "I want you to investigate a region above known as 'Machara', where a power source is supposedly located. Take only a few, I will require some of the warriors for my own mission."

Havartiss nodded. He had no qualms about carrying out these orders. He had been wanting to get out of the shelter anyway, as the dingy corridors and the musty air had been stifling to him. He longed to be out in the open air, and even the open water, back in his natural habitat instead of this shelter, which was essentially a vast, underground metal box. If Karva wanted his war, they would need a power source to raise their sleeping brethren and to power their communications so they could contact other shelters. He wondered if there were other shelters remaining, or if they were the only ones. Surely some of their people had to be awake somewhere else?

"Understood, Field Marshall." Havartiss gave his leader a curt salute before he turned and left the room, thankful to be out of it and away from the results of the experiment that had just taken place. It did not do much to ease his disquieting thoughts, but he figured that as soon as he was out in the open air he would feel a bit more clear-headed.


	18. Evening at the Estate

**Evening at the Estate**

It was raining outside once again. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning flashed occasionally. One particular strike was alarmingly close, the crack that followed it loud enough to rattle the windows on the old mansion. The Doctor stood by one window, looking out across the back garden. The guards that Spartus had dispatched earlier had been carried down into the cellar by the alien, locked up before they could awaken. For now, Spartus, the Doctor and Abigail were the only three left in the estate. Lockwood had run off and disappeared, and Spartus did not seem at all pleased by this. He sat on the arm of a sofa nearby, a combat knife in his hand that he twirled about absently, but with an alarming degree of finesse.

The Doctor had a number of questions on his mind, most of which concerned the alien soldier and his presence here. So far, Spartus had found the original items he had arrived on Earth with, including his jacket and his gun. The Doctor had found something genuinely interesting amongst Spartus' personal effects, and he held it in one hand now, able to feel the odd tingle it sent down his arm.

"You say you got this from the Voord?" The Doctor asked. He turned away from the window, looking towards Spartus. The alien looked up and nodded his head slowly. He did not seem too happy, likely because Lockwood had got away. He would get over it, given enough time, but for now his mood was positively sour.

"The Voord?" Abigail was standing nearby, arms crossed. She raised a brow, curious. "What's a Voord?"

"They're aliens," the Doctor said simply.

"Gee, Doc, that sure narrows it down."

The Doctor stepped towards Spartus, holding the object out towards him.

"You know what this is, Spartus?" He asked him. Spartus frowned at him, his yellow eyes showing some contempt. He did not seem too interested in the object, and more in the bad mood he had become mired in. "You don't, do you?"

"It's what got me here," Spartus replied, his voice low. He turned his gaze back down to his lap, where he spun the knife about in his left hand, back and forth, again and again.

"Yeah, it is." The Doctor placed it onto the coffee table next to the sofa. "The point is; you shouldn't have had it in the first place. Or the Voord, for that matter. It's a Gallifreyan Time Ring. I need to know where this was and how you got it, and I need the details. It could be very important."

"Gallifreyan?" Familiarity crossed Spartus' face. "So, the Time Lords made that thing?"

"He knows about them?" Abigail asked, surprised. The Doctor ignored her. It was likely Spartus knew more about his people than any UNIT operative did.

"Not many other people can make rings that send you hurtling through time and space." He leaned forwards, looking down at Spartus, waiting for his explanation. "Now tell me, Spartus, where did you get it?"

"Galva Prime," Spartus replied. He directed his gaze straight ahead, seemingly staring at the wall. "The Voord and the humans were fighting it out. My brother and I…" He trailed off briefly, as if the thought had physically hurt him. "My brother and I, we had been hired to find a special item, with only enough details given to us to find it, but not enough to know exactly what it was. And…" He paused, glancing over at the Time Ring. "Looks like we found it, huh?" He looked up at the Doctor. "You're not human, are you?"

The Doctor shook his head.

"No, I'm not." He picked up the Time Ring again, being very careful to keep his fingers out of the inside of the ring as he slid it into a pocket in his trousers. "Do you know who hired you to get it? I suppose it was all very hush-hush and no one gave you a name?"

"That's right." Spartus tucked the knife back into a sheath at his waist. "I don't know the name of my employer or why they wanted it or how they knew it would be on Galva Prime. I was given a job to do and I did it, and look where it got me." He looked to the window, where the rain pattered against it. Another rumble of thunder sounded out from somewhere distant. "I was holding onto my brother when I grabbed the ring. The both of us ended up here, out on some muddy plain. And somehow Lockwood and his hired help showed up."

"They probably detected something," the Doctor explained. "A surge in temporal energy that might appear on less sophisticated scanners as an unknown energy spike. This is an older model Time Ring, so it wouldn't conceal its arrival as well as newer ones. Of course, they're strictly Gallifreyan, so why there was one on some backwater planet during a war is anyone's guess. You certainly don't know, do you, Spartus?"

The alien said nothing. He moved off of the chair and walked towards the window, continuing to gaze out onto the backyard.

"You're a Time Lord, aren't you?" Spartus asked the question in a level voice. The Doctor was surprised, but concealed it.

"How can you tell?"

"Something about you. I've met Time Lords before." He turned around, his face scrunching up into a frown. "Always ones to take the moral high ground. Must be why you stopped me from killing Lockwood, when the opportunity was right there?"

"We may need the man. I don't like him much either, but he's started something with a bunch of angry Earth Reptile people that he may be the only way to stop it all. That's why we came here, to find him. And that's why we need him alive, regardless of any grudges we hold against him."

"He killed my brother," Spartus said, gritting his teeth. "And you let him get away."

"I know how you feel," the Doctor said. "But vengeance isn't always the answer. As I said, we may need Lockwood, and I won't have you go killing what may be our one way to resolve the situation peacefully. There's a war brewing, Spartus, and I can tell that you've seen your fair share of war. You don't want to be caught up in another one, do you? Because that's what'll happen here, whether you want it to or not. Unless we can make the Sea Devils see reason."

"Sea Devils?"

"The previous dominant species here," the Doctor replied. "It's a long story, Spartus, and the most you probably need to know is that there are some reptile men out on the moors that Lockwood woke up with his digging. They want their planet back, and I want to make sure no one further gets hurt. That includes Lockwood."

"And if resolving things peacefully doesn't work?" A valid question, though not one the Doctor had wanted to contemplate in any detail. "If a war starts, then what?"

The Doctor did not reply. He did not intend for a war to start, even if the opening shots may have been fired earlier today. And if a war did occur, then it would likely be a short one. The Sea Devils, no matter their technological advantage, were simply outnumbered. They would not be able to win, and they would be overwhelmed by the humans. The problem may be solved then, but it was the ripple effect that the Doctor was concerned about. If other shelters were found, containing other Sea Devils and sub-species like them, then the humans would destroy them all without a second thought. He wanted to avoid that. He had no intention of letting an entire species die under his watch, especially not one as undeserving as the reptile people of Earth.

"They can't win it, can they?" Spartus asked. "Why not let the humans wipe them out?"

"Because I won't let that happen," the Doctor replied. Spartus' cynical attitude seemed irritating at first, but given what the alien had likely been through, it was understandable. The Doctor could certainly empathise with such an attitude. Spartus bore all the marks of a wounded war veteran, including the anger that had driven him into seeking revenge against his brother's killer. He was a potentially dangerous element here, but one who had lead the Doctor onto a potentially intriguing mystery with the Time Ring. Regardless, there was something more urgent at hand.

"You said you could take me home," Spartus said. "Is that true?"

"I will take you home, Spartus." The Doctor replied. "I can do that for you. But you have to promise me you won't go and kill Lockwood. No matter how badly you may want to, he may be useful. And you'll do everything in your power to help me prevent a war. Is that clear?"

Spartus took a long moment to think over his answer. Finally, and with some reluctance, Spartus finally nodded his head. He would do it, but the Doctor would need to keep an eye on him. That much was obvious, especially considering the alien's overall attitude.

"I'll help you stop a war," Spartus said. "Heaven knows I've seen enough of those. But I can't make any promises about Lockwood. If there's a way home in it for me, then I'll do my best." He nodded slowly. The Doctor detected the sincerity in his voice, perhaps even a hint of the once naïve young male he had been before his experiences had shaped him and changed him. Of course, the Doctor would still watch him closely. There were no certainties with someone like Spartus.

"Good to hear," the Doctor said, smiling. He turned to Abigail. "Tell me, Abby, you have any plans? Any ideas I should know about? Something that might help avert a war?"

Abigail shrugged. She seemed at a loss.

"I was going to go back to UNIT, to Captain Proctor," she said. "I'll need to report to her everything that's happened. She'll probably want to speak to you to, Doctor."

"Of course she will. She'll want me out of the way while she and her UNIT buddies blow the Sea Devils up."

"They did kill a bunch of people…"

"And humans have never killed anyone, have they?" The Doctor shook his head. " _You_ can go back to your UNIT friends. I'm going to try and get through to the Sea Devils."

"They'll shoot you on sight."

"No they won't." The Doctor spoke confidently. Even if they did shoot him on sight, there were ways around that. It would not be the first time he had been shot at, and it likely would not be the last.

"So, you're just going to walk into their base through the front door?" Spartus was the one to ask this. He raised one brow, more so in a curious manner than anything that might have indicated he thought the Doctor was crazy. Abigail looked a bit more unbelieving, but she seemed to be reserving her judgement. She was from UNIT, she had most certainly read up on the Doctor and the kind of thing one could expect from him.

"That's the plan," the Doctor said, glancing at Spartus.

"By yourself?" Spartus nodded his head, as if he approved of the idea. "You might need some backup. If you're going to be taking me home, I'd rather like to keep you alive."

"How very pragmatic of you, Spartus." The Doctor considered the idea for a moment. "You can come along, but no shooting. You're going to hang right back."

"Sure, whatever." Spartus had slid his gravity pistol into a holster at his waist. With his armoured jacket he had a very bounty-hunter sort of look to him, typical of the spacer types the Doctor had encountered in the past. A wanderer, the Doctor figured, much like he was in a way, albeit Spartus leaned more towards the outright illegal pursuits. "You have a ship?"

"At the fortress," the Doctor answered.

"And that's where the Sea Devils are?" Spartus frowned slightly.

"Yes. Bit of a problem, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He turned to Abigail. "You go off and tell Captain Proctor that the Doctor's gone to negotiate with the Sea Devils. Try and stop her from calling in an air strike."

Abigail nodded in agreement. The Doctor gestured to Spartus to follow, as he headed out of the room.

"What kind of ship do you have?" Spartus asked the Doctor. "Shuttle? Transport?"

"Something a bit more complicated than that." They came to the front entrance. The rain was coming down hard now. Walking through it, all the way back to the fortress, would be foolish. Luckily, there was a luxury black car parked outside, under a shelter. Heading out of the nearby garage was Ronaldson, who looked understandably anxious as he raced towards the car. The Doctor stepped into his path, smiling at him as he approached. Ronaldson tried to move around the Doctor, but instead the Doctor simply stepped back into his path.

"Ronaldson, where are you off to in such a hurry?" The Doctor asked. "My friend and I would like a lift. You wouldn't be against that, would you?"

"Against…?" Ronaldson stopped and looked at the Doctor worriedly. He then turned to Spartus, his eyes widening slightly when he recognized the alien. "Oh, no, no Doctor, I wouldn't have a problem with that. Not at all."

"Good to hear." He motioned to Spartus. "Looks like we have a ride."

Ronaldson unlocked the car, allowing both of them to sit down in the spacious interior. Spartus had not been in such comfort for a long time, and he could not help but think that all this room in a mere car seemed unnecessary. The Doctor, meanwhile, sat across from him whilst Ronaldson took his place at the wheel.

"Take us to the fortress," the Doctor told him. Ronaldson looked back at them, an incredulous look on his face.

"But isn't that…?"

"Overrun with angry Sea Devils? Yes, you'd be right about that, but that's part of the reason we're going. So go on, start the engine. Let's move. Time waits for no one and all that."

Ronaldson took a moment to consider this. Slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, he keyed the ignition and put the car into gear. Moving them out of the estate, they started onto a gravel road that wound its way downhill and towards a main highway. Spartus, from where he sat, had opened a small cabinet between seats on his right, and from inside he had pulled a bottle of bourbon that he then popped the cap off and took a careful sniff from. The smell certainly made clear the 'hardness' of the liquor. Without much thought, he took a swig, downing about a third of the bottle before putting it down. He sputtered briefly, but otherwise felt fine, despite the burning sensation in his mouth. The Doctor was staring at him, as if gauging his reaction.

"Wouldn't you want to keep your senses sharp, if you're going to be my guardian angel?" He asked.

"I'll be fine, Doc." He replaced the cap on the bottle and put it back into the cabinet. "I've got a very high tolerance for booze."

"Of course you do." The Doctor did not sound too believing of the claim, but did not argue it. Outside, the Scottish countryside went by steadily, with Ronaldson taking them at a reasonable speed along the mostly empty roads. Spartus found his gaze going to what was outside, as he had never had much of a chance to properly admire the scenery. It was unlike many of the places he had been, and far removed from his home-world with its warm weather and blue skies. This place seemed perpetually grey and dreary, at least this time of year, with rolling hills and plains going as far as the horizon. Through the smell of gasoline and rainwater, Spartus could detect traces of saltwater and seaweed. They were not far from the ocean, and he remembered then that it had been a very long time since he had seen an actual ocean up close. Not since leaving his home-world years before, dragging his brother along for the ride. There had not been much left for them back home, not after the Federation had come through.

"Something on your mind?" The Doctor asked, the sound of his voice breaking his train of thought.

"There's always something on my mind," Spartus replied. "I just want to get off this rock, Doctor."

"And I'll take you, you have my word on that." The Doctor spoke in a level tone. He had his own reasons for wanting to take Spartus back to his own time, and maybe the alien got the inkling there was more to him doing this than mere kindness. The Doctor needed to know where the Time Ring had come from, and why it had brought him to this time and place in particular. "But we have work to do first, Spartus. I can't just leave, not with what's going on?"

"And why not just leave?" Spartus sounded annoyed.

"Because I have a duty of care," the Doctor answered, though admittedly feebly. "In a way, you could say I caused some of the trouble. I let my own curiosity get the better of me, and it wouldn't be the first time that's happened. I helped Lockwood, before I was even aware of what the man was really like. Before I knew he had you locked up like some sort of dangerous animal."

Spartus huffed, shaking his head slowly, a disbelieving look on his face.

"So you're responsible for the trouble you're trying to stop?"

"In a way, but only in the sense that I enabled Lockwood to do the things he's done," the Doctor said. "There was a door, sealed shut, that lead into the Sea Devil shelter. I opened it because I wanted to see what was inside as badly as Lockwood did. Now he's gone and started a war, all through greed and ambition."

"And you didn't let me kill him, despite this?"

"I don't want you to kill him because there wouldn't be any point," the Doctor said. He narrowed his eyes, doing what he could to work out what was going on in Spartus' head. He thought like a soldier, albeit one who had lost any uncertainties as to committing violence. It was probably second nature to him, where shooting and killing were the methods in which he solved problems. "And it would do you no good, either."

Spartus sighed, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I've been there, Spartus. I know what it's like to lose someone, and to want nothing more than revenge against those responsible. And I can tell you right now, there's little to be gained from it. Whatever emptiness you feel now, it'll only get worse if you kill Lockwood."

"Are you some kind of psychologist or something? Is that why you call yourself 'the Doctor'?"

"I have an honorary degree in psychology," the Doctor said. Spartus snorted in derision but otherwise said nothing to this. "So in a way, I _am_ a psychologist, so you should totally trust what I say."

Spartus remained silent, stewing in his own thoughts. He stayed that way for most of the drive, and the Doctor let him be. It might give the alien a chance to think over what he intended to do, with Lockwood and about getting home. The Doctor was certainly curious about him, and about how he had ended up here, but all those questions he had for Spartus would probably have to wait until after the Sea Devils were no longer a threat. As for them, the Doctor had his doubts about resolving the whole thing peacefully. His last encounter with the Sea Devils, years and years ago (to him, at least), had ended with the whole lot of them being blown to smithereens, and that had been _his_ doing, mostly. He hoped to avoid an outcome like that this time around.

* * *

The seaside town of Machara, where the Doctor's TARDIS had been found standing in the middle of an empty field, was a small fishing town typical of the Scottish landscape. When Lockwood wandered into the town, most people were indoors, the rain beating down hard as he found his way into the local watering hole. The Boar's Tusk Inn it was called, complete with rooms for rent and hunting trophies up on the walls. As if to add a stereotypical touch, someone upstairs was playing the bagpipes, the piercing wails of that 'instrument' echoing downstairs and into the bar area. There were probably about five people down here, including the bartender, and they all turned to the newcomer as he stepped inside, soaking wet and dressed in the kind of safari shirt that had gone out of fashion decades before.

"Ah, would ye look at that?" One of the men, an older man with a thick bushy beard, said this as Lockwood walked into the inn. "It's that fellah from the fortress, isn't it? Having a rough day, mister?" The question was not a serious one, and it was followed by a round of laughter from the other men seated at the table. They had been playing cards and drinking pints, and aside from the screeching bagpipes from upstairs the bar had been relatively quiet. Lockwood ignored the group and made his way to the bar. From inside his shirt pocket he pulled out his pipe, putting it to his mouth before searching his other pockets for matches. Unfortunately, the box he found was soaked through, effectively rendering the matches inside useless. The bartender noticed this and took a box of matches from under the counter, offering one to Lockwood.

"Forgot your umbrella, sir?" He spoke with less of an accent, and not in the belittling way of the locals nearby. Lockwood nodded his head, taking the proffered match and lighting it before setting the tobacco stuffed into the end of his pipe alight. With that done, he shook the match out and took a gentle inhale of the infused smoke.

The lighting inside the bar was subdued, made more so by the darkness outside. Lockwood looked around the place, his gaze going to the head of a deer set up on the wall behind the bar. He had similar trophies, though his were considerably more exotic than mere deer.

"Do you have a phone?" Lockwood asked.

"Right over there, sir," the bartender said, pointing over to the corner of the bar far off to Lockwood's right. Near the entrance to the toilet block was a payphone, and Lockwood nodded in acknowledgement as he climbed off of his seat and made his way to the phone.

How had everything gone so wrong? First the Doctor, then the Sea Devils, and now Scales had broken loose? It was as if his entire life was unravelling around him, and not through any of his doing. The Doctor was the one to blame, even if he had opened the way into the Sea Devil shelter. He had been curious, as much as Lockwood had, and yet had the gall to turn around and tell Lockwood that what he was doing with the Sea Devils was wrong. What did it matter, when one was dealing with a bunch of sea lizards from millions of years in the past? Humanity was the ruling force of the Earth now, and those Sea Devils needed to know their place. Of course the Doctor had to be on a moral high-horse. According to the records Lockwood had read the man had a habit of moralising, even though by doing so he may have been very much hypocritical. Was he not the same man who had blown up a whole lot of Sea Devils decades before, with the help of the Royal Navy? Well, he was not the 'same man' in the strictest sense, since back then he had looked completely different. Yet, at the same time, that Doctor and the Doctor now were one and the same…Time Lords, or whatever the Doctor was really, made for confusing reading. Dealing with the man was trouble enough. That was all he caused, was it not? Trouble everywhere he went.

Lockwood pulled out some loose change from his pockets and slid it into the payphone. Putting it to his ear, he dialled a familiar number.

After a few rings, the phone was answered. Lockwood heard the familiar voice of a female secretary, and he was quick to blow her off.

"I would like to reach Mr. Van Statten, please." Lockwood had to wait a further moment before the secretary patched him through. There was a click, and a familiar voice sounded through the line.

" _Lockwood?"_

"Hello, Henry?" Lockwood smiled, although naturally the man on the other end could not see him. "You were right about the Doctor. Nothing but a troublemaker. As it stands, it would appear that we're in a bit of a pickle. The Sea Devils have become rowdy. Violent. I'll need whatever help you can spare."

" _I feel like I've already helped you enough."_

"Your help has been invaluable, my dear Henry," Lockwood said. "But I need from you the numbers of any good hired help you might know. I feel that my personal security people won't be quite up to the task."

There was a pause. Van Statten was thinking, likely about how the situation might benefit him rather than through any real desire to help Lockwood.

" _What kind of tech do these 'Sea Devils' have?"_

"Energy weapons. Advanced computers. Some organic technology, from what I've seen. I simply need a clean-up crew out here. Best one money can buy. And you know me, Henry old boy, money is no issue."

" _Music to my ears, 'old boy'."_ He said the last part with considerable sarcasm but otherwise spoke in a reasonable tone. He did sound as if he were smiling, and it was not hard to work out why. _"I know just the kind of people you need. They aren't cheap, but they're reliable. They're operating in the British Isles right now, but with the right amount of persuasion I can have them diverted to you."_

"Anything to clean up this unfortunate mess," Lockwood said. He could hardly care less about the mess, it was the fallout he was worried about. If this whole fiasco was not buried soon, then no amount of money would save him from the law. He could be put on trial before an international tribunal for stirring up trouble with the Sea Devils. There was no doubt in his mind now that UNIT wanted him arrested, and they were probably going to send more of their lackeys after him. The sooner the Sea Devils were taken care of, the better. All the better it would be to completely destroy any evidence of his involvement. A fair few people he liked might need to be killed, but in times like these, one would need to do things above and beyond the norm.

"Just take the money out of the usual account," Lockwood replied. "And I need them here quickly."

" _I always appreciate the business, Captain,"_ Van Statten said. _"You'll get your clean-up crew. Since I like you so much, I might even give you a discount."_

"Very good." Lockwood wondered what he might be getting into, if bringing in the heavy guns was the best idea. He did not have many more options available to him, and he certainly did not have a lot of time. In the end, it appeared that dead Sea Devils would have to do, in regards to any 'specimens' he might recover.


	19. Negotiation

**Negotiation**

They had been driving along through the rain for a while. Throughout, Spartus hfiddled about with his knife, twirling it around in one hand as they drove. It was not the safest thing, given the bumps they hit now and again, but nonetheless Spartus appeared to have a very good grip on the blade, and he seemed able to anticipate any sudden lurches they might be about to go through. The Doctor sat across from him, bored stiff. Nonetheless, the landscape outside began to shift into something he was familiar with, and the fortress itself appeared in the distance, a stark set of crumbling walls and towers that jutted out of the rolling green, muddy plains like a bizarre kind of sore. In the dark and rain, it looked positively menacing, and a streak of lighting shot high above it, casting the whole structure in a white flash.

Spartus put the knife away and looked out the window to the fortress. He then glanced at the Doctor, his eyes narrowed.

"Is that the place?" He asked.

"Yes, yes it is." The Doctor tapped on the back of Ronaldson's chair. "Stop us here. If you get too close, we'll probably get shot at."

Ronaldson seemed relieved to stop, and quickly brought the car to a halt by the side of the road. The perimeter fence surrounding the fortress was further up ahead, with its gate wide open and the bodies of a few dead guards still lying where they had gone down. The Sea Devils had not bothered to clean up after themselves, and why would they have? To them, the fortress was little more than a handy staging ground. The Doctor got the impression that they were being watched, and it would not surprise them if there was a sentry somewhere reporting on anyone who neared the fortress. Even so, the Doctor had no intention of sneaking in. He wanted to go in and talk to the one in charge, and he would make better progress if he simply let the Sea Devils capture him.

The Doctor opened the door at his side, and Spartus followed suit. Outside, the air was cold and the rain was steady. A wind blew in from the west, coming in across the sea. A clap of thunder sounded out from nearby, practically deafening in its proximity. Spartus looked about, scanning the area for potential threats. His hand went to his waist holster, but the Doctor put out an arm, signalling him to stop.

"No need for that, I think," the Doctor said.

"Someone's watching us," Spartus replied. "I can feel it."

"I can too." The Doctor started forwards. "Maybe we can ask the sentry if he could take us to their leader?"

Spartus did not reply. He followed the Doctor, remaining a short distance behind him as they went for the open gate. Behind them, Ronaldson remained in the car, seemingly split on whether he should leave or stay.

Spartus kept alert, half-expecting the shooting to start at any moment. Rain soaked his jacket and trailed down his skin. With one hand, he wiped some of it away from his eyes.

The pair went onto the gravel road leading from the gate to the fortress itself. On both sides was grass and mud, with the road itself in a shallow sort of ditch. Nonetheless, Spartus expected someone to be hiding in the grass, waiting to ambush them. The Doctor did not appear at all concerned about this, and strode along confidently, with Spartus trailing behind him. The fortress lay further ahead, rain sluicing off of its stonework. After a few minutes, they had come to the fortress' outer wall. Here, the Doctor stopped, peering into the courtyard beyond. As expected, the dead guards were where they had fallen. The mud underfoot had become thick and sludgy from the rain, and each step the pair took had their feet sinking into it a couple of inches. The whole place looked like a dump, at least in Spartus' view. All rundown and muddy, having gone a long time without any proper maintenance. For all the 'history' that might have been here, it did not make for much of a tourist destination.

"So, Doc, where are these Sea Devils you keep mentioning?" Spartus asked. The Doctor did not reply, and instead stepped through the entrance in the outer wall and into the open courtyard beyond. Spartus did not like it, as they could be shot down from any number of angles inside. It was too exposed, and their enemy could be up on the walls or in the windows, giving them the height advantage. Remaining by the entrance, Spartus pulled out his gravity pistol, keeping an eye on the surrounding structure as the Doctor walked inside.

"Is there anybody home?" The Doctor called out. Spartus winced when he said this, expecting the energy bolts to come flying out at any moment. "Any Sea Devils here? I want to talk. It's important. We need to work something out."

There was no response from anyone or anywhere. The rain kept falling and thunder rumbled in the distance. Spartus had his back to the wall, standing under the arch that lead into the fortress. The Doctor walked further ahead, going towards the inner keep. Spartus did not like watching his way off of this planet walking into certain death, but he knew that there was very little he could do to stop him. Apparently the Doctor had a death wish, made clear by the way he was walking straight into an exposed kill-zone.

"I'm looking for the one in charge," the Doctor announced. "Is he here? Is _anyone_ here? Or am I talking to the air? Wouldn't be the first time." He turned around, glancing back at Spartus. He spoke in a lower voice next: "Am I being ignored?"

Spartus motioned to him to get back. The Doctor shook his head, and instead turned back around to face the inner keep. Someone was here, they were certainly being watched. But whoever they were, they chose not to show themselves. If anything, the Doctor and Spartus were outnumbered, and a quick exchange of fire could put an end to their intrusion. The fact that this had not happened was a good sign, although Spartus knew too well what happened when one pushed their luck.

Finally, there was a sign of movement further up ahead. The doors of the inner keep swung open and a pair of Sea Devil warriors, outfitted in thick black armour, emerged. Both carried energy weapons of some kind, and their eyes were large and tinged yellow. Fish-like, with reptilian features, they walked upright like most developed species. Spartus raised his gun, keeping them in his sights as the pair stepped outside. The Doctor smiled when he saw them, apparently pleased his calls had been answered.

"Well, well, the welcoming committee's here," he said happily. "I was just looking for the one in charge? Is it you?" He pointed to the one on the left. "Or you?" He shifted his pointing finger to the one on the right. "Or is he busy?"

"What do you want, ape?" The one on the left spoke in a hissing, raspy voice. Spartus had to strain to hear this one, over the noise of the rain falling and the rumble of thunder.

"That's just the thing," the Doctor replied. "I'm not an 'ape'. In fact, I'm almost insulted by the term. I'm an alien. Run a scan, you'll see. I haven't displaced you from your homes. Far from it, in fact." He spoke as if he were with friends at a restaurant, apparently oblivious to the hostile nature of the creatures before him. "All I want to do is talk. The one in charge, is he about? Not dead, I hope?"

There was a long pause as the pair of Sea Devils seemed to consider the questions. They had not fired on sight, so that was a definite positive. Spartus remained where he was, back against the wall in the shadow of the arch. He could not be sure if they had spotted him. If they had, they did not seem immediately bothered by his presence.

"Why do you want to talk?" The one on the left asked.

"Because it's better than shooting at each other," the Doctor answered. "You're an intelligent people. Do you want to go around killing? Don't you think it'd be best if we could work something out?"

"You are the one who spoke to our Commander, earlier." The one on the right spoke this time. His one had a slenderer frame, and a gentler voice. Spartus assumed this one was female, though at a glance one would not be able to immediately tell with the armour over their frame. "The one called the Doctor. Is that true?"

"That's me."

The two Sea Devils turned to each other, speaking quietly for a moment. One of them nodded, and the other walked forwards, holding the Doctor at gunpoint. He put his hands up, but otherwise they did not shoot him. The one holding the gun towards him stopped for a moment, adjusting some sort of setting on the side of their gun. Before the Doctor could say anything more, the Sea Devil pulled the trigger. There was a flash of energy as the shot hit the Doctor in the chest, sending waves of it rolling over his form. He fell into a heap in the mud, and the two Sea Devils grabbed his unmoving form by the arms and began to drag him towards the door into the keep.

Spartus went to move forwards, to blow away these two walking fishes, when he head footsteps behind him. He turned around, expecting to see a Sea Devil standing behind him, energy weapon pointed at his face. Instead, he found himself looking into the glowing green lights of night vision goggles, set upon a face hidden under a black balaclava, visor and tactical helmet. This very human gunman pointed a submachine gun in his face instead, and he did not utter a word. His stance and the gun in his hands spoke for him, and the message was clear.

Spartus did not move. He sighted another two similarly outfitted humans moving in along the road. There were probably more of them around. Some sort of military outfit, although they bared no emblems he was familiar with. Instead, the one in front of him had a shoulder patch displaying a grey ram's head, a symbol that Spartus had not seen in much of his reading about Earth. They were certainly no government outfit, which only amplified his uncertainty.

"I…" Spartus took a moment to regain his composure. "I come…in peace?" He smiled sheepishly then, holding his hands in front of him.

* * *

Earlier, before the Doctor and his newfound alien friend Spartus had gone walking straight into the fortress, the Special Reaction Battalion had arrived in the region. Trundling about in a pair of large armoured black vans, unmarked and with license plates that could be changed on a whim, this particular group of hired mercenaries had rapidly deployed upon receiving word from one of their more frequent employers. Landing at a small airfield in the Scottish countryside, they had rolled out right away, loading up as they went, racing to the rendezvous point where they were to meet the man paying them for their time on this particular operation. That man was Edmund Lockwood, and he was waiting on a hill not far from the fortress. From the temporary camp up here he could look down upon the fortress and its surroundings. He did not know what to expect from the hired guns who were on their way, and they had cost a pretty penny, but money was the least of his concerns. He had trouble brewing in that fortress, trouble that could come crashing down on him at any moment. Not only that, but his prize specimen was loose, all thanks to that Doctor and his troublemaking ways.

The two black armoured vans came to a halt a short distance behind him. From inside emerged several black-clad men in combat gear. They were already loading up, adjusting their guns and checking over their equipment. The one in charge was a tall, muscular man who looked to be in his early thirties. He had no helmet on as yet, rather a bandana was over the lower half of his face, covered with a printed skull design. He stunk of tobacco smoke and alcohol, and as he approached Lockwood he lowered his bandana, revealing a clean-shaven chin and a scar that ran down the lower part of his left cheek.

"You must be Hawker," Lockwood said, walking up to him. He stuck out a hand, but the man simply looked down at it with a frown. "I never got your full name…"

"Hawker will do, _Captain_ Lockwood." Hawker spoke with an American accent, and he said the word 'Captain' with a heavy degree of disdain. Lockwood immediately disliked the man, and he got the strong impression that the feeling was mutual. It must have been a mercenary thing. The usual people Lockwood hired were at least approachable.

"What kind of mess do you have here?" Hawker looked past him, towards the fortress. They were some distance from the perimeter fence, and the rainfall had started to intensify. The mercenaries did not appear to be bothered by it, and Lockwood had spent his fair share of days out in rough weather. Still, he would have preferred to be somewhere indoors. He was reminded of his house, and whether or not the Doctor and Scales were still there. If they were, they certainly had an awful lot of nerve. That was _his_ house after all, and he intended to return there soon enough.

"According to what I've read, it's something about lizard men." Hawker stated this without a hint of disbelief. Rather, he spoke in a level tone, his expression serious.

"Fish men. Amphibians. In armour, with energy weapons. You were forwarded the files when you were called."

"And we've been over them, but they don't detail _this_ situation. Why are these 'Sea Devils' here? You woke them up?"

"In a way."

Hawker huffed, not believing him.

"Maybe you shouldn't go digging about. Some things are better left alone, don't you think?"

Lockwood went to voice his disagreement and his irritation at having some upstart he barely knew telling him what he should and should not do. However, Hawker turned around and started barking orders to his soldiers before Lockwood had a chance to speak.

"Jackhammer and Roper, scout the perimeter. You see anything strange, report it straight away. Everyone else will be with me. Let's make this quick. Stock up on grenades and C4. We'll level the place if we have to."

"You can't be serious." As soon as Lockwood uttered this, Hawker spun about and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him forwards with ease.

"We're here to clean up your mess, old timer," Hawker spat. His blue eyes seemed to pierce right into Lockwood's very being. He fought against the man's grip, but was only marginally successful. Hawker let him go abruptly, allowing him to take a step back from the man. Nonetheless, the mercenary's eyes continued to watch him carefully. "We'll do it however we can, with whatever we can. These fish people, these 'Sea Devils', if they've got an underground base we can seal it. Blow it to pieces. You hired us to clean up the mess, and we'll do just that. All the save your reputation. It's what we do, and we're very good at it."

Lockwood did his best to regain his composure. It was his pride that had been hurt the most, and had he known he would be hiring a bunch of American ruffians, he might have reconsidered Van Statten's offer concerning these mercenaries. Surely there were others he could have hired? Still, it was too late to change his mind now. Something had to be done about the Sea Devils, and Lockwood was certainly not going to be able to deal with the problem himself. The heavy artillery would be needed, and it was best that these mercenaries sort things out rather than the likes of UNIT. Unlike the mercenaries, UNIT would crucify him, destroy his reputation and his life in general, probably see him imprisoned as if he were some sort of criminal. And they were here, in the region right now. UNIT could not be allowed to interfere.

"Do whatever it takes," Lockwood said. Hawker nodded in agreement. He seemed pleased by this plan.

* * *

The Doctor regained consciousness several minutes later. He found himself held between two Sea Devils, each one holding onto an arm of his, their grips strong, certainly indicating a great deal of strength that was well in excess of any ordinary human being. He had been brought into an operations centre of some kind, presumably deep within the base, although it was long past its glory days. It was falling apart in places, the walls cracked and the floors littered with debris. There was a large screen on the wall above, currently displaying a computerised map of the region. In the middle was a metal table projecting a holographic display that the other Sea Devils in the room had their attention set upon.

The Doctor squirmed and the pair released him. His head throbbed from the effect of the stun bolt, but otherwise he felt fine. He was very dirty, his clothes covered with mud, a result of falling face first onto the rain-soaked ground. Ahead, the chief Sea Devil turned to face him. Above them, a light fixture flickered. The whole place was in a state of disrepair. That was to be expected, after millions of years of disuse and continental shifting.

"Is this the one?" The leader stopped a short distance ahead of the Doctor.

"Yes, it is," the Doctor replied. "Hello, hello everybody." The other Sea Devils turned to look at him then. None seemed too pleased with his presence. He looked to the one in front of him, tall and broad-shouldered, yellow eyes set firmly upon the Time Lord. "You're the one in charge, I take it? Pleasure meeting you." He held out a hand. The Sea Devil only eyed the proffered hand as if insulted. The Doctor smiled and lowered it, instead looking past him to the two Sea Devils standing near the holographic projection. One of them was the one he had spoken to earlier that day, the second-in-command, Havartiss. He was watching the Doctor with narrowed eyes, but otherwise said nothing.

"Tell me why we should not just kill you, ape?" The leader asked.

"Because it would be rude?" The Doctor went to walk by him. The leader stepped into his path, making him stop. "Also, I'm not an 'ape'. Really, do you have to use such derogatory terms?"

"If you are not one of the apes, then what are you?" The leader was glaring at him. There was anger in his eyes, and the Doctor could tell right away that he would have problems with this one. This was a problem in and of itself, given that this Sea Devil was the one in charge. The same one Lockwood had experimented on.

"Run a scan, you'll see I'm no ape." The Doctor glanced over at the Sea Devil standing to the right. He looked different to the others, as he was not outfitted in the sturdy black armour that the warriors wore. He was dressed in a light blue webbing of some sort, civilian clothing for Sea Devils. "You there. You're not a soldier, are you?" He went to walk towards the civilian Sea Devil, but again the leader moved into his path. Behind him, the two guards who had escorted him moved forwards, flanking him on either side. "Who are you?" The Doctor looked towards the civilian. He seemed to glance at his leader, as if looking for his approval. The lead Sea Devil did not say anything, but the look in his eyes was clear.

"I am Gasrava," the civilian Sea Devil said. "I am the chief scientist and medical officer for this shelter."

"A scientist! Wonderful. I'm also a scientist, you know."

"Really? What kind of science do you subscribe to?" Gasrava sounded genuinely curious.

"All sorts, really. I dabble in a bit of everything."

"Enough of this." The chief Sea Devil's voice, hissing and rasping, still carried a deep, intimidating tone. It echoed throughout the operations room. "Know your place, ape. You are not here as a guest. You are our prisoner, and you will speak only when spoken to."

"Who are you, then?" The Doctor turned back to the leader, disregarding the latest order. "You must have a name, surely?"

"I am Field Marshall Karva," the chief Sea Devil replied, through gritted teeth. "You spoke to my Commander earlier today. You wished to negotiate. Why?"

"Because it's better than having everyone kill each other," the Doctor said, simply. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"The apes deserve nothing less," Karva said. "They're ruining this planet. They captured me and they almost killed me through their experiments. Once we have solved our power issues, we will contact other shelters and awaken our many sleeping brethren. The apes will stand little chance from such a combined force."

"That's where you're wrong," the Doctor countered. "The humans will destroy you. Face it, Field Marshall. You're outnumbered and outgunned. Their technological advancements are very close to your own. They have all the advantages here. So why throw your lives away in some pointless conflict?"

"Pointless?" Karva looked insulted, again. The Field Marshall struck the Doctor as a self-important type. "This conflict is not pointless. It is to ensure our survival. The apes are barbaric, and always were. They are polluting this planet to a point where it will be barely habitable. We intend to reclaim this world, and we have the means to do so. As for you…"

"Doctor."

"As for you, _Doctor_ , if you are not an ape, why would you care what happens to them? Surely you have seen how they are?"

"Oh, you have no idea." The Doctor nodded his head slowly. He paced past Karva, this time moving around him when he tried to step into his path. "I know how the humans are, I know them quite well. I've seen their good and their bad, and it's the same for every intelligent, civilised species in the universe. You can't judge an entire species based on the actions of a few. Not every human is 'barbaric' and not every one of them is trying to 'pollute' the world. They aren't all going to experiment upon you, Karva. There is a possibility here, for peaceful coexistence. If only you gave it a chance. Opened a dialogue with humanity."

"This planet is ours."

"That's just it, isn't it?" The Doctor stopped by the central rectangular block-like table. The holographic projection here shimmered blue and was mostly transparent. It was a three-dimensional map of the region, presumably achieved through the use of drones deployed by the Sea Devils. "This planet stopped being yours when you went into hibernation and left it to its fate. The 'apes' evolved. They've gone and built an entire civilisation while you've been napping. You can't just wake up now and reclaim the planet. You had your time. You've left your mark in history. And, like everything else, it came and went. Faded away, turned to dust. It'll happen to humanity, more than once, and it'll happen to every other civilisation in the known universe."

Karva glared at him as he spoke. Whatever was going on in the Sea Devil's mind, it would appear that the Doctor was striking a chord. And it was not a good chord, either.

"You speak with such certainty," Karva spat, his tone venomous.

"Benefit of travelling in time," the Doctor replied. He gave a light shrug of the shoulders. "But that's a matter for another conversation, at another time. Right now, I'm here to stop a conflict that'll destroy what remains of your people. All you have to do, Karva, is go outside. Go to the nearby town. Introduce yourselves. Sure, there'll be panic, people might get hostile, but those will be teething problems. Get the media in, and they'll swoop on the story like vultures, and open a dialogue. Start a conversation with the 'apes'. Speak your piece. Most will understand. And as long as you're reasonable, you'll be able to live your lives with little, to no, bloodshed."

"Coexist with the apes?" Karva practically spat the words. The Doctor ignored his little outburst, and looked to the holographic map. The fortress was marked in yellow, as were numerous underground tunnels that appeared to run underneath it, branching off of the shelter. Some went for the town, which was also shown on the map. Others went further inland, opening up into the countryside. Even further inland, there was a set of structures that did not represent any town. They were something else. He briefly recalled what Abigail had told him, of a new power station further inland. He guessed that this was what was on the map, and it had likely caught the attention of the Sea Devils for obvious reasons.

"There cannot be coexistence," Karva continued. "I will not have my people live on their terms. They will force us into reservations. Look upon us as curiosities, monsters even. Most will not tolerate our presence. They will herd us into camps and destroy us."

"Unlikely. I won't let that happen." The Doctor turned to Karva, narrowing his eyes. "Of course, a military-minded individual such as yourself has to assume the most extreme possibilities are what will occur. I know humanity. There will be problems, like with anything else, but it will work. I'm certain of it."

"I'm not." Karva turned to the others in the room. "We cannot believe what this ape says. The apes will destroy us. We have the means to wipe them out. Once we have awakened our slumbering brethren, we will begin our reclamation."

"What means?" The Doctor looked to Karva. There was something in the way the Sea Devil had spoken, and it was clear that there was something he did not know about, something he had missed. He needed to know what these Sea Devils had at their disposal, beyond the obvious. He noticed that Gasrava shifted anxiously where he stood, and this was a good indication that there was some sort of weapon at their disposal that the scientist had had a hand in creating.

"Not another virus, I hope?" The Doctor asked. He watched Gasrava, and the Sea Devil looked to him in surprise.

"You must be referring to the virus our Silurian brothers and sisters created to thin the ape numbers," Karva said. "I am surprised you know of its existence."

"I've met your people before," the Doctor replied. He turned to Karva. "That's why I'm here. That's why I'm trying to work out a peaceful resolution."

"It did not work during your last encounter with our people, did it?"

The Doctor did not reply. His previous encounters with the Earth Reptiles had not ended well, certainly not for the Sea Devils and Silurians.

"Your Silurian friends released the virus. I cured it." The Doctor said this matter-of-factly. He had to make sure that the means of destroying the humans Karva was referring to was not the Silurian's virus.

"You cured it? Then you are certainly more dangerous than I suspected." He turned to Havartiss, who had remained silent throughout the conversation. "Take this one to be executed. He has spoken enough."

"Executed?" The Doctor was surprised. He had thought he might have been making some progress. Apparently not, certainly not with Karva, who was so set in his ways he was reminded of Lockwood. Both were utterly convinced of their rightness, and for Lockwood at least it had backfired terribly. It might do the same to Karva, if he had his way.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Gasrava said. He stepped forwards, somewhat uneasily, as if worried about Karva's reaction. "If he cured one of our manufactured diseases, then he may be of some use to me in the laboratory."

"If he is telling the truth."

"Oh, I never lie." The Doctor smiled at Karva then, only for the Sea Devil to shift his piercing, anger-fuelled glare his way. The Field Marshall was staring daggers at him, and for a moment the Doctor thought he might just shoot him on the spot. "I mean, if you want to create yet more dangerous diseases, then I can certainly help you out." The Doctor glanced at Gasrava. "If Gasrava here will have me."

Karva was thinking it over. He did not get too far with it, as something started beeping. It was coming from the central block table, a red light that flashed at one corner. Havartiss tapped a few keys on the holographic projector's controls, and the holographic map dissipated before forming into a three-dimensional layout of the fortress. Several red blips were moving into it, and the Doctor took a guess that they were intruders.

"Sensors detect human intruders," Havartiss announced. He tapped another button, opening a channel to a Sea Devil outside. One of their sentries, no doubt.

"Sentries, report." There was a lengthy pause before a reply came through, the hissing tones of another Sea Devil sounding somewhat muffled through the connection.

" _Armed intruders have entered the fortress. They have engaged us. We require assistance."_ There was the rapid _crack-crack-crack_ of automatic weapons fire and the line went dead. The Doctor silently cursed the timing of this intrusion. Someone, perhaps UNIT, had seen it fit to take matters into their own hands.

"The apes once again prove to us the extent of their savagery," Karva said. He looked at the Doctor. "It appears we won't be opening a dialogue to them, Doctor."

The Doctor said nothing. The two guards grabbed him and started to haul him out of the room. Gasrava followed, likely concerned that they might try and follow Karva's original order to execute him. Thankfully, they took him straight to the laboratory, with the Doctor making sure to memorise the way there. The corridors looked similar here, although there appeared to be colour-coded markings on the floors pointing to the various different parts of the underground base. The laboratory was at the far end of the corridor, tucked out of the way in some distant corner. As soon as he had been escorted here, the guards went outside, leaving him in the laboratory with Gasrava.

The Doctor had tried, and if it were not for Karva's hardliner attitude he may have succeeded. As it stood, nothing had been achieved. At least not with the leader. Gasrava, on the other hand, seemed a bit more open towards him. The Sea Devil scientist went up to the bank of computers in the middle of the laboratory, seemingly forgetting that the Doctor was in the room with him. On the far right was a window, looking into a sealed room of some sort. A test chamber, or specimen container, or both. The Doctor noticed that there was a significant amount of dark red blood smeared on the inside of the window.

"The Field Marshall will kill you all," the Doctor said. "If he gets his way."

"And he will get his way, Doctor." Gasrava turned to him, his head slightly downcast. He did not sound convinced of what he was saying. "And you will help us get his way."


	20. Mercenaries

**Mercenaries**

Spartus had been lead, by gunpoint, out to the front of the fortress. There were more of the gun-toting soldiers here, all outfitted in similar black combat gear. They were moving into the fortress itself, spreading out whilst two of their own went up onto the wall. As for what they did with Spartus, they apparently were not taking any chances. One of them took his gravity pistol away before he was shoved along to the edge of the gravel parking area outside. There were a few cars here, left behind by Lockwood and his people when they had evacuated the area. The soldiers, or mercenaries (he supposed it was the latter), made him go down on his knees.

This had not been what he had expected. Someone had called in some heavily armed help, and now he was once again falling into the clutches of a bunch of humans he would rather have avoided. The mercenary who had taken his gun had pulled a plastic zip-tie out of one pocket and was preparing to bind his hands behind his back. It was something Spartus intended to avoid, despite his lack of options, and he was about to do his damndest to escape when a loud _shing_ sound from somewhere nearby, like metal slicing upon metal, echoed across the parking area. A white bolt of energy zoomed out of the dark, leaving in its wake a vapour trail as its scorching heat boiled the rainwater it passed through. It hit the mercenary in the back, causing a small explosion of smoke as it burned through his Kevlar armour and sent him sprawling into the mud. Spartus looked around for the source of the shot, aware that the other mercenaries were shouting. Gunfire erupted from somewhere inside the fortress, and another energy bolt came out of the dark, causing Spartus to throw himself onto the ground as it flew over him and hit the windshield of a nearby car. The whole thing shattered, raining shards of glass upon him where he lay. His hands went for the dead mercenary near him, and they scrambled for a weapon. The first one they came upon was the mercenary's dropped submachine gun, and Spartus took this up into his hands. He operated automatically, bringing it up to his shoulder as he remained on his knees, his eyes searching the dark ahead, rain falling upon him.

There it was, the Sea Devil, standing in the clearing. A sentry, presumably, and it was moving towards him, keeping low in the grass. Dressed in thick black armour, the one thing that stood out about it was the yellow eyes. They seemed to shimmer in the dark, and they gave Spartus the perfect thing to shift his aim to. He opened fire, the weapon buckling in his grip, and he swept a volley across the grass ahead. He heard a raspy grunt as the Sea Devil was hit, and it came stumbling out of the dark, still alive but bleeding from a pair of holes that had been shot through its torso armour. Spartus rose to his feet, keeping the weapon held up high. He fired another volley, some of the rounds pinging off of the Sea Devil's armour. Shifting his aim up, he planted two in the creature's face, one eye disappearing in an explosion of blood and bone and brain matter. The Sea Devil fell forwards into the mud, dark red blood seeping out of its wounds. There it remained, unmoving.

Spartus threw down the submachine gun and went for the dead mercenary. From him, he retrieved his compressed gravity pistol. Looking around, he could hear the sounds of weapons fire and shouting from within the fortress. A full-scale battle had erupted. Spartus had no intention of leaving here without his ticket home. If that meant going right into the middle of the fight, he would do just that.

Spartus went through the main archway. Several mercenaries were scattered throughout the inner grounds of the fortress, exchanging fire with Sea Devils who had taken positions around the keep. Spartus made his way along the edges, keeping low and in the shadows. Above, up on the crumbling wall, a mercenary opened fire with a high calibre rifle of some variety. One of the Sea Devils near the keep fell to the ground, blood pouring out of a hole that had been torn into its neck. Spartus kept to himself, the air around him filled with the sounds of automatic weapons fire. The mercenaries were gradually gaining ground. An energy bolt hit the wall near Spartus, causing him to hit the ground as part of the wall near his head exploded. His hearts pounding, he swivelled around to face the direction from where the shot had come. One of the Sea Devils was up on the wall further ahead. Spartus let off a shot with his gravity pistol, blowing a chunk out of the wall. The Sea Devil who had fired upon him was sent flying off of his feet, falling from his perch upon the wall before landing in a heap in the mud ahead.

Spartus kept moving. The mercenaries and the Sea Devils continued their exchange as he made his way to the right flank of the keep. Here, he used his pistol to blast open the door, allowing him entry into the dimly lit interior. It was musty inside and mostly empty, with cobwebs hanging from the walls and ceiling. The inner lobby was occupied by one Sea Devil, who had turned around to face him when the door had been blasted off of its hinges. Spartus shot this one without a second thought, planting a gravity pistol blast in its chest. This blew away much of its armour, taking the Sea Devil off of its feet and sending it flying backwards into the wall at the end of the room, splattering blood in its wake. Clouds of dust wafted up from the floor, disturbed by the effects of the weapon. A window to Spartus' left shattered as a volley of stray weapons fire found it.

Heading into the keep, Spartus paused for a moment, trying to think of where he should be going. There were certainly no signs around here pointing him to the Sea Devil base. If the Doctor was still alive, and he likely was, then he would be down in whatever underground facility these creatures had. As if to answer his question, a Sea Devil appeared at the end of the hallway ahead, coming up a set of steps. It saw Spartus, and seemed momentarily uncertain as to what to make of the alien. Spartus answered its uncertainty by shooting it, the gravity pistol shot hitting the creature square in the face. The Sea Devil's head exploded, splattering the contents of its head across the wall behind it. The creature fell backwards, its headless corpse tumbling down the stairs, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

Spartus followed after it, heading down the steps. The sounds of weapons fire died away as he descended into the fortress' lower bowels. He was not sure of exactly where to go, so like he often did he relied on his gut, going down a further flight of steps and through an opened gate that lead into a large, dank cavern. There were no further Sea Devils here, at least not right away, and he found himself descending even deeper underground. He could smell the Sea Devils on the air, he realised, the stench of seawater mingled with something fishy. All he had to do now was follow his nose. His sense of smell was far more sensitive than that on a human being, after all.

He was not sure what he was going to do now. The Doctor had to be about somewhere, the Sea Devils would not have carted him off if he was dead, surely? No, he had to be in their base. His gut told him as much, and he came to the door into their underground facility about ten minutes later. It was wide open, watched only by a lone sentry, a younger looking Sea Devil whom Spartus held at gunpoint. He did not shoot this one right away. Rather, he kept his gun trained on him as he approached, coaxing him to drop his weapon.

"There's a man who was brought down here," Spartus said. "Tell me, fish breath, is he inside?"

The Sea Devil said nothing. Spartus stopped a short distance in front of it, considering his next move. The corridors beyond the entrance were narrow and rundown, and it would make for dangerous close quarters fighting if he went inside. His gravity pistol would be dangerous for use in such confines, but it would still be an awful lot more dangerous to those he shot at rather than to himself.

The Sea Devil was glaring at him, as if his presence here was insulting it. This was likely the case, he realised, and without much further dawdling, he spun his gun about in his right hand and smacked the butt-end of it across the Sea Devil's head, sending the creature falling against the wall. Blood seeped out of a freshly created gash on the side of its scaly visage. While the creature groaned, half-conscious, Spartus used his free arm to haul it up, putting it in front of him with the barrel of his gun pressed into its lower back.

"Move," he ordered. "Take me to the Doctor. I'm breaking him out."

* * *

"What you've done is abhorrent." The Doctor was looking into the test chamber, at the mutated remains of the human prisoner who had been inside. Gasrava had explained the general principle of his mutagenic gas, a means to create hybrids who would make up a slave labour force. The whole idea disgusted the Doctor, even more so when he viewed the finished results. The abomination that had been created, resulting in the death of the human subject, should have been enough to dissuade any scientist from pursuing the project further. Gasrava was not any scientist, rather he was a Sea Devil scientist convinced of his righteousness, and lead by a ruthless military officer who was hell bent on destroying humanity. The whole situation had gone well out of anyone's control.

"Abhorrent?" Gasrava stood near the central bank of computers. He was tapping away at one terminal, only looking up for a moment to regard the Doctor with a level gaze. "It is science, Doctor. Trial and error has always been a major part of the scientific process. You are a scientist, are you not?"

"This is hardly trial and error." He turned around to face the Sea Devil. "This is an affront against nature."

"There is no need to be so dramatic, Doctor." Gasrava looked down at his work, frowning at the results, and began tapping away at the keys again. "The mutagen needs to be refined. Perfected. What you see in there is simply a failed experiment. Science is nothing but full of failures, but nonetheless you learn from your mistakes."

"And you want me to help you?" The Doctor shook his head slowly. "That's not happening. I can't be a part of these twisted experiments. How many humans are going to die, if you do perfect this 'virus'? If Karva has his way, how many people are going to become monsters?" The Doctor did his best to control his building rage, but it was becoming increasingly hard to do so. What these Sea Devils were planning, from what he had gathered so far, was making the idea of a peaceful resolution very difficult to pursue, or even consider for that matter.

"The humans will be put to better use in the forms my virus will grant them."

"As mindless beasts?"

"As hybrids containing the best elements of both species," Gasrava countered. He spoke in a level tone, seemingly convinced of what he was saying.

"You think you can control them when they're like that?"

"It has to be refined, Doctor. That's why you're here. You say you know humanity, then you will show me how to best alter the virus. It was a failed experiment from before our slumber, but now it could very well be our salvation."

The Doctor could hardly believe what he was hearing. If the Sea Devils intended to eradicate humanity with this virus and turn the survivors into mutants, he would have none of it. Obviously they needed him, otherwise they would have likely executed him by now. They needed someone with a great deal of scientific knowledge to help them refine this horrible weapon of theirs.

"Is this how you want to rebuild your civilisation?" The Doctor asked. "On the blood of millions of innocents?"

"The humans are far from innocent…"

"And you are, I suppose?" The Doctor allowed his anger to seep into his tone, giving it an incisive edge. The way these Sea Devils spoke was beginning to get on his nerves. There had to be a way to get through to them, but with Karva around and influencing them, it seemed unlikely that they would heed his words.

"No one is innocent," Gasrava said. His voice sounded more resigned all of a sudden. "But the humans will be the death of this world. I intend to make something useful out of them."

"Something useful to your people, of course."

"You are arrogant for someone who claims not to be an ape." Gasrava took up a small box-shaped device from the bench in front of him. It had a display on it, as well as a few buttons and dials, and he fiddled with them briefly before turning to face the Doctor. He appeared to run some kind of scan with it, and the results made him widen his yellow eyes slightly, fascinated by what he saw. "Two hearts? How very fascinating. For all your appearances, you are no ape, that is for certain. Or you are some very bizarre mutation."

"Mutation?" The Doctor might have felt insulted, were it not for the more pressing matters at hand. "Hardly. You must have an unhealthy fascination with mutated things, Gasrava. All this talk of gas and mutagenic viruses. How does it work, this creation of yours?"

Gasrava put aside the scanning device. His expression seemed to light up. No doubt he was pleased to be given the opportunity to talk about himself.

"It latches onto the DNA and rewrites it from the ground up," Gasrava said.

"Yes, I assumed as much. But surely something like that, as sophisticated as your creation, could not act so quickly?" Naturally, he did not mean the part about the scientist's virus being 'sophisticated', but for the moment it seemed useful to flatter the Sea Devil. All the more helpful to him, if he could goad information from Gasrava.

"With the right synthesized elements, you can make anything happen quickly," Gasrava explained.

The Doctor did not like the sound of that. Gasrava, like so many other scientists, had been playing with fire. He might not have known the kind of dangers he was dabbling in, and if he did he may simply not have cared. All in the name of science, of course.

"A change that quickly would kill most subjects."

"Indeed. And that is why you're here to help me refine it." Gasrava started for the door ahead, a store room from what the Doctor could see, complete with exotic warning signs upon it. He tapped a button by the door and it slid open. Heading inside, he emerged with a long metal canister. The Doctor guessed that a sample of the virus was contained within. The door slid shut behind Gasrava as he walked over to the bench and set the canister down, somewhat gingerly, the Doctor noted. As if he was afraid of dropping it. There was a chance that the gas was harmful to Sea Devils as well, either that or Gasrava simply was not going to take any chances.

"I'll bring up genetic make-up on the computer for you, Doctor," Gasrava said. "See what you can make of it."

"What I can make of it?" The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "I already think it's an affront against nature. What more do you want me to add?"

Gasrava ignored the comment. He put the canister aside and began tapping at the keys on his computer. The main display shifted, showing a layout of a genetic strand that the Doctor did find himself examining, despite his reservations. Whatever Gasrava had achieved here was notable, in that he had constructed something able to latch onto a subject's DNA and rewrite it, spreading faster than any ordinary virus. There was no incubation period for one, so the word 'virus' was probably not entirely accurate. It was a biological weapon, pure and simple.

"So?"

"So, give me time." The Doctor shook his head. He would have to stall for as much as he could. To have a hand in something like this, as terrible as it was, was something he would rather avoid. "I didn't make it now, did I?"

At that point, a siren wailed throughout the base. Red lights began flashing at the walls. Gasrava looked about him, his eyes widening in surprise. The Doctor could only assume that the human attackers outside had managed to make good progress.

"We have intruders in the base." Karva's voice echoed out of speakers dotted throughout the facility's interior. "Go to high alert. There is a non-human intruder in the base. Ensure he is stopped."

Non-human? Spartus had followed him down here, this much became apparent. The Doctor was not sure what to think, other than the fact that his newfound alien ally was being incredibly reckless. They could seal this place up, lock them both in. He certainly did not need Spartus' death on his conscience, not after everything he had done to rescue the alien.

"Is he a friend of yours?" Gasrava asked, noticing the way the Doctor's face scrunched up slightly with concern.

"Oh, you could say that."

* * *

"Which way?"

Spartus kept his gun pressed into the Sea Devil's lower back. The inside of the base was mostly metal corridors and small rooms, cramped and confined and certainly rundown. Puddles of water were scattered about the floor and sections of the wall had been damaged, the metal torn in places. Further ahead, a pylon had fallen from the ceiling, and the pair had to duck underneath in order to progress. At this point, an alarm sounded, and red lights came on about the corridors. Presumably the other Sea Devils had become aware of the intrusion.

"Keep moving," Spartus ordered the Sea Devil. It did not protest, moving along at a brisk pace with Spartus right behind. He wondered just what he hoped to achieve by coming down here, as what did he owe the Doctor, really? At his hearts, Spartus was pragmatic. There was a way off-world with that mysterious alien, and he intended to take advantage of it. If that meant pulling him out of here, then that is what he would do.

"You'll be killed," the Sea Devil said, finally.

"I doubt it," Spartus countered. They rounded a corridor, entering a larger room that branched off into a few different directions. Here, they stopped, and Spartus considered which way to go. There were about half a dozen open pods at one wall, stasis chambers of a kind, and straight ahead was the way into some sort of control room. The alarm had stopped, but the red lights continued to flash, and somewhere nearby he could hear footsteps coming nearer. He turned to the corridor at the left, watching as a Sea Devil rushed into view with an energy weapon in hand. Spartus lifted his gun from behind his hostage and fired a shot, the compressed gravity blast devastating in the close quarters. Clouds of dust flew off of the floor and walls, disturbed by the pummelling burst of energy, and the Sea Devil ahead was sent flying backwards several feet, the front of his armour pulverised, blood seeping out of a multitude of cracks that had opened across it. Blood poured out of his nose and mouth, even his eyes, his internal organs likely ruptured, bones turned to powder. Some might have considered it overkill, although given the circumstances there was no such thing.

"Come on." Spartus nudged his hostage along. The younger Sea Devil seemed shocked at the sight of its dead comrade, eyeing the bloodied corpse as they went by.

Judging from the light resistance, it appeared that the Sea Devils did not have large numbers at their disposal. This would certainly make things easier, even in the close quarters. Spartus simply had to find the Doctor in this maze of corridors.

"Is there a command centre near here?" Spartus asked. "Where would they have taken him? The Doctor?"

The Sea Devil said nothing. Spartus was not willing to tolerate the silent treatment, so he stopped and clipped the Sea Devil across the back of the head with his gun once again. The creature yelped, hissing in both pain and anger, before Spartus grabbed it tightly and pressed the barrel of his gun against the side of its head.

" _Where?"_ He demanded.

The Sea Devil started moving again.

"The command centre is this way," it said. The creature did not sound too enthused, which was understandable. Still, Spartus kept them moving. The command centre itself was at the end of a wide corridor, the large double doors guarded by a pair of Sea Devils. Spartus did not waste any time as they approached.

Both Sea Devils went to raise their guns, but Spartus was quicker and he blasted one of them. The Sea Devil hit the wall behind him with an audible _whack_ , splattering blood in its wake. He held the other at gunpoint, enough for it to drop its gun and gradually edge back into the control room. In here, there were about four Sea Devils in all, including a tall, burly looking one in armour that carried a golden-yellow trim along its shoulders. The leader, no doubt, and Spartus levelled his gun at this one as he moved into the doorway, his hostage in front of him.

All heads turned to him as he approached. Some went for their guns, but Spartus waved his own for emphasis, pressing its barrel against the head of his hostage.

"Where's the Doctor?" He asked.

The one he had taken to be the leader took a step towards him. Spartus levelled his gun at him, causing him to stop in his tracks.

"Where is he? He has a deal to fulfil." Spartus looked about the large, circular command centre. Even this appeared to be in disrepair, with a number of computers and monitors flickering or simply flat-out broken.

"And who are you?" The leader asked. He sounded genuinely curious. Spartus eyed him suspiciously.

"Names are for friends. That's why I don't need one."

"You're not an ape…"

"No kidding." Spartus kept his gun pointed at the leader. He could send them all into disarray for a while by killing him. He seriously considered it for a moment, even though he was outnumbered. All it would take was for one of them to pull a gun and they would hit him fairly easily. The hostage might have been between them, but their energy weapons seemed capable of blowing through flesh fairly easily.

"You are outnumbered. Even as we speak, I have soldiers on their way here. We've been hard at work, gradually reviving who we can. You won't get out of here alive." The leader sounded certain of this.

"We'll see," Spartus said.

"As for your friend, the Doctor, he is in the laboratory. You can go to him, if you like. Doing so will only put you further from the exit."

Spartus considered his options. He had put himself at great risk to come down here, all to rescue a man he barely knew. Even so, he believed what he said, about being able to take him away from Earth. There was something inherently trustworthy about the Doctor, at least in Spartus' eyes. He might have stopped him from killing Lockwood, yet even Spartus could see that in the end, the Doctor had had a point. Now the Doctor needed rescuing, and Spartus was so far the only one in a position to do so.

"Thanks." He would have to find the laboratory himself. Acting quickly, he pushed his hostage into the room and took a step back. The other Sea Devils went for their weapons. In a matter of seconds, Spartus had turned his gun to the control panel by the side of the door. He fired, the panel exploding into a shower of sparks, pluming smoke. The doors slid shut, presumably jammed. Regardless, the Sea Devils inside would at the very least be slowed down. Spartus turned and started to run, and once again followed his gut as to where he was to go.

* * *

The Doctor regarded the virus' genetic makeup carefully. He could see some flaws right away, ones that Gasrava had likely overlooked. That, or they were intentional, shortcuts made because the overall thing was inherently unstable. Trying to rectify these flaws would have taken a great deal of time and effort, and Gasrava had probably been working to a strict timetable. Someone like Karva would have wanted results quickly, and he had done his best to create a workable biological weapon in the circumstances.

"Anything to say, Doctor?" Gasrava asked. The Sea Devil was standing just to his left, watching him expectantly. He was keen for an answer, if only to prove the Doctor's usefulness. The Doctor weighed his options carefully, as he did not wish to help this scientist with his brutal creation, nor did he want them to execute him for being useless. It was a delicate balance, and it was not the first time he had found himself in a situation like this. He knew what he could do, and he liked to think he was very good at it: he could lie. Heaven knows he had done this many, many times in the past.

"It's inherently unstable," he said, stating the obvious. "You're trying to break the very laws of genetics with this thing. Of course there are going to be problems. What happened to your test subject earlier is likely going to happen to everybody else who gets hit by this thing." He had to destroy the virus somehow. The canisters were in that store-room in the corner of the laboratory, so there had to be some way he could destroy the whole lot. For once, he wished UNIT was here. They would have had the explosives needed to pull off something like that. He must have fallen far, he realised, to actually _want_ this place blown up.

"I might be able to help you fill in those gaps," the Doctor continued. "I'll just need time and the equipment to do it."

"You'll have everything you need."

 _Great._ He had to get out of here somehow. How, he had no idea. Running came to mind, although he did not fancy getting gunned down out in the hall.

"Do you agree with Karva?" The Doctor turned to Gasrava, who had stepped over to the bench and was gradually unscrewing the top of the metal canister. The Sea Devil did not look back at him, and instead remained focused on his task. "Do you really think he has your best interests at heart?"

"He is our leader. It is his job to have our best interests at heart."

"Leaders don't always play by the rules," the Doctor countered. He heard some noise out in the corridor, footsteps mainly, running ones at that. Shouts as well, followed by a loud _thump_ as if someone had just slammed something into a wall. Weapons fire, presumably. The noises had drawn Gasrava's attention, and he turned towards the open door. One hand went to his waist, where one of the disc-fronted Sea Devil side-arms was resting in a holster.

Suddenly, someone very familiar appeared in the doorway. Even the Doctor found his presence surprising, but given the circumstances it was a welcome surprise. Spartus rushed into view, his gun raised as he set eyes upon the Doctor, and in turn, Gasrava.

"Hello, Doc." Spartus pointed his gun towards Gasrava as he stepped into the room. Gasrava froze, his hand hovering over the holster for his side-arm. Still, he seemed to reconsider his options.

"I'm surprised to see you here," the Doctor said.

"Why wouldn't I be here? You're my way off this planet. I'm not going to leave you in the company of a bunch of angry fish people." He took a few steps into the room, keeping his gun set on Gasrava. "Sorry I took so long. I had to run around, sticking my head into every room as I went." His orange-tinted eyes flitted back to Gasrava. "As for you, fish breath, I suggest you back well away."

Gasrava did not say anything. Instead, he did as he was told, backing up against the bench behind him. Upon it, the canister was open, the vial within containing some sort of bluish slime. Gasrava appeared nervous, with his eyes set on the weapon pointed his way.

"Come on, Doc," Spartus said. He motioned for the Doctor to follow. Somewhere outside, the raspy voices of disgruntled Sea Devils could be heard, gradually growing in volume as they neared, their booted feet clunking rapidly upon the metal floor.

The Doctor started towards him. Spartus backed into the corridor, swivelling around as he scanned either end, keeping an eye out for any approaching Sea Devils. Gasrava must have sensed an opportunity here, as the scientist pulled out his gun as Spartus turned back around. The Doctor was just stepping out into the corridor, only for Spartus to shove him somewhat rudely aside as he brought his gravity pistol to bear.

Gasrava fired a shot. It flew somewhat wide of Spartus, the scientists' inexperience with weaponry becoming apparent. Spartus fired in turn, as part of the doorway near his head exploded in a shower of sparks, the searing heat of Gasrava's energy bolt scorching the metal. His aim was sent off centre slightly, enough so that Gasrava did not receive the full brunt of the pummelling lance of compressed force. Instead, he was knocked backwards over the bench, taking the canister down with him. His right arm disappeared into a pulpy mess, and blood spurted freely out of the ragged stump that started just after his shoulder. Gasrava started screaming as soon as he hit the floor, a screeching sound that seemed to emanate from the very depths of his throat. The canister containing his vile creation had hit the far wall, its outer shell already cracked from the force of the gravity pistol's blast. Its subsequent impacts were enough for its inner casing to spring a leak, disrupting the fragile equilibrium within. The blue chemical quickly began turning into a similarly coloured gas, wafting out of the damaged canister inches from where Gasrava had come to lie. Spartus watched, both disgusted and fascinated, and the Doctor found his gaze going to the unfortunate creature. He remained stoic, despite the abhorrence and pity he felt.

As soon as Gasrava caught a whiff of the gas, the rapid-acting mutating agent began to replicate throughout his system. His flesh began to visibly shift, and black bone-like spikes ripped out of his spine, spurting blood in their wake, tearing through his suit of blue webbing. The bones of his face begun to misshape, and one eye was pushed out of its socket in the process. Gasrava continued screaming throughout the whole ordeal, and the Doctor, turning away, quickly shut the door on the whole scene. He tapped a few buttons by the doorway, sealing it shut, ensuring that the gas would remain inside.

"What the hell was that?" Spartus asked. The Doctor turned to him. Indeed, what was the best answer to that question?

"Something we have to stop," he said simply. He turned and started to run down the other end of the corridor. Spartus was left a bit cold for a moment, before he sighed and started after the Doctor.

"Not even a 'thanks' for rescuing you?" He called after him.


	21. Engine Trouble

**Engine Trouble**

Field Marshall Karva was able to get out of the operations room after the guards forced the manual release on the jammed door. Without further delay, Karva started down the hall, followed by the two guards and Livakresh. There had been a commotion further down the corridor, presumably from the laboratory, and it was not long before Karva was there, at the sealed door. Livakresh checked the control panel next to it, finding that someone had locked it shut. According to the computer, there was a foreign element in the atmosphere. Karva had a good feeling as to what it was.

"Vent the room," he said. Livakresh nodded, tapping a few keys on the control pad. There was an audible hissing from the other side as the air within was vented and filtered, and a green light switched on at the display that suggested that it was safe to enter. Karva could sense the trepidation from Livakresh and the two warriors with them. Nonetheless, he felt no fear, instead a strong sense of determination to get the Doctor, and in turn his alien friend, before they caused any more disruption. The alien friend in question had been an unexpected wildcard, and they had been unprepared for an intruder like that to break into the facility. Especially one armed with some sort of devastating portable weapon. There was more at work here than Karva had realised, and he cursed himself for not having prepared for it. Of course, how was one meant to prepare for such an eventuality? The Doctor had been a wildcard to begin with, an alien who resembled an ape, yet was far from one. And then his friend, the blue-skinned and vaguely reptilian biped, who was apparently in league with him. The whole situation had gone out of control very quickly, and Karva hated it. He hated he Doctor and he hated the alien biped all the more.

The door to the laboratory slid open. The first thing Karva noticed was the coppery smell of blood. He stepped inside, aware that Gasrava was slumped at the wall, blood all over him. His clothes had been torn, and various bone-like spines had grown out of his flesh, along his back and arms. Further ridges had developed along his skull, and his entire face seemed to have shifted into something more animalistic, more primal. No doubt this was a result of his gas, the little pet project of his that had never been perfected. Not only that, but he was still alive, his chest heaving slowly with each breath. Karva walked up to him, pulling his gun from the holster at his waist.

Gasrava's eyes turned to look at him. His mouth, filled with sharp, pointed teeth, opened slightly. A low groan escaped his throat, and for a moment Karva thought he was going to speak. Instead, a sort of low growl escaped his mouth, and without hesitation Karva raised his gun and levelled it towards Gasrava's head. He fired, splattering the brain of the mutated Sea Devil across the wall behind him. He felt very little, other than a slight pang of regret, as now Gasrava's biological weapon was unlikely to ever be refined properly. Regardless, there was still much potential for its use in its current form.

"Find the Doctor, and his friend," Karva ordered. He glanced over at Livakresh. "I want them both dead. As for Commander Havartiss, the both of you are the organize raiding parties. We will seek out the means to power this base to its fullest capacity."

He stowed his gun back into the holster at his waist. Livakresh nodded in acknowledgement of the orders and turned around, striding out of the room while Karva looked down at Gasrava's mutilated body. It was worrisome that the gas appeared to have a nasty effect on their kind. This was nothing some protective gear would not fix, and its fast rate of dissipation certainly worked in their favour.

* * *

"Do you even know where you're going?" Spartus asked. He had been following the Doctor through the corridors of the base for a number of minutes now, and so far they had gotten nowhere. Certainly not anywhere near an exit. Despite this, the Doctor appeared to know exactly where he was going. He was surprisingly fast for someone who looked to be in their fifties, and Spartus had to work to keep up with him. They stopped suddenly at a junction, where the left end had been blocked off by a centuries-old cave-in. The Doctor put a finger to his mouth, wetting it slightly, before holding it to the air. After a pause, he motioned to the corridor straight ahead.

"This way," he announced, and took off again. Spartus sighed and resumed running after the eccentric man, keeping alert for any approaching Sea Devils. So far, the base seemed lightly staffed. He assumed this was something to do with how most of the resident Sea Devils were in hibernation.

After some more running, Spartus realised that somehow they had circled around, coming back to the room where there were about half a dozen empty stasis pods. Amazingly, the Doctor had taken them back to the entrance, and it was simply a matter of pressing on ahead a little more and they would be at the cavern. Nonetheless, Spartus still felt a little lost, as the Doctor had so far remained mostly silent, leading him on a wild chase through the dingy, musty base. Spartus did not like getting lead by the nose, nor did he like being kept in the dark as to what the one in the lead was thinking. Here in the familiar room with the pods, he stopped, and he turned to the Doctor, who had stopped nearby. He wanted some explanation.

"Just what the hell is going on down here?" He asked. He took a moment to catch his breath. "Seriously, Doc, what happened to that fish guy? With the gas?"

The Doctor appeared restless. His eyes went to the corridor ahead, and then he turned to Spartus. His expression was stern, made all the more so by his pronounced, somewhat bushy grey eyebrows.

"The gas is a biological weapon," the Doctor said. "The Sea Devils here intend to deploy it on humanity. That's something we're going to have to stop them from doing."

"Stop them? It hardly looks stable for them to use." Spartus had never seen anything quite like the rapid mutation of the Sea Devil in the laboratory. A weapon like that hardly seemed practical. "They'll kill themselves, as well as us. And if it's just a gas…"

"If it's just a gas, it could spread on the winds, or turn to dust. If it turns to dust, it could get into the water and the earth. And if those infected can spread the infection through physical contact, then there'll be an epidemic. That's why it has to be stopped." The Doctor spoke with such determination that it was almost infectious. Spartus did not entirely buy it, but the way the Doctor spoke was enough to make him buy into anything. Being around this man, during the brief time he had known him, had already started to leave an impression upon him. He was not sure if he liked that or not. Spartus had already considered himself to be his own man, beholden to no one. Not since his time fighting in a war had he followed orders from anyone, or even let anyone else lead him, other than himself.

"You sound so sure of yourself."

"I _am_ sure of myself." The Doctor spoke harshly. He also sounded like a man who knew he was right. Spartus just shrugged in reply. He had no intention of making an argument out of it, certainly not here and now. "The Sea Devil Field Marshall, Karva, he's the one we have to stop. If we can sort him out, then the others might back down."

"Sort him out?" Spartus laughed. "You mean kill him, right?"

"I don't intend on killing him," the Doctor said.

"Then how? If the fish man's as ruthless as you make him out to be, then how can we be expected to reason with him? First, you stop me from killing Lockwood, and that I could understand. But this Karva guy? He wants to wipe out humanity. We have to kill him."

"There's been too much killing."

Spartus could hardly believe what he was hearing.

" _Too much killing?"_ Spartus copped a glare from the Doctor that would have been enough to make an Ice Warrior quake in their boots. "Too much killing, Doc? They want to kill us; you know that right? They've been trying to kill me ever since I came in here."

"And I suppose you happily slaughtered the ones that got in your way?"

"Because I had to." Spartus narrowed his eyes. His somewhat deep, raspy voice took on a less agreeable tone, as his patience finally started to wear thin. The Doctor might have been inspirational, but he was also becoming insufferable. "It was either I kill them, or they kill me and your sorry behind is left in the company of the Sea Devils. Which one would you rather, Doctor?"

"I didn't need rescuing," the Doctor said, abruptly. Petulantly, even.

"It certainly looked like you did."

"Well, I didn't. I was going to disrupt their development of their gas. Play along and play nice. I'm very good at that."

"I'm sure you are." Spartus looked down the hall, towards the exit. It was a clear run, at least from appearances. "But I couldn't have known that, could I?"

"No, obviously."

"So I rescued you."

"Because I'm your ticket off of Earth, not because you genuinely care."

Spartus shrugged. He did care, to an extent. He would not have come down here if he did not. He had been meaning to find a way off of Earth ever since he got here, and he had no intention of seeing his one chance get killed by a bunch of angry fish people.

"What if I said I didn't want you coming with me?" The Doctor asked, raising one brow. "What if I said you couldn't come on board my ship?"

"You'd be leaving me here, stranded." Spartus leaned forwards slightly. He stood a few inches taller than the Doctor, who himself was a fairly tall man. They eyed each other closely, each one trying to work the other out. The Doctor likely had the advantage here, but it did not make Spartus feel any less of himself. "I'd be at the mercy of twenty-first century humanity. Hardly the most enlightened bunch."

"And you are enlightened, are you?"

"I'm from the future. You even said as much. Enlightened or not, what does it matter? The future's as much as a mess as the present. And whatever that ring I found did, it brought me here. Brought me here just so I could watch my brother die." Spartus allowed the hate and the anger to seep into his voice then. He practically spat the words. "So, if you want to leave me here to rot, then do it, Doctor. Just don't lead me on. Leave me here, all because we have different views of how things should work. And when you do that, and you leave me in the hands of UNIT, or Lockwood's people, or some other shady group, you ask yourself: _'Am I a good man?'_ "

This last question seemed to strike a chord in the Doctor. He took a step forwards, practically placing them face-to-face. Something had stirred in him, and the look in his eyes made Spartus falter momentarily. It was the look of a tortured soul, someone who had seen far too much and had lived for far too long, their life going from one tumultuous, traumatising event to another. The Doctor appeared as if he were about to hit him, and Spartus felt his hearts skip suddenly as he considered the notion. The Doctor might not have appeared the most intimidating foe, but appearances were deceiving.

"There's been too much killing," he said simply. The anger was gone from his eyes in a flash, and he turned around and started walking away. He went for the corridor that lead to the exit, and his timing was good, given the fact that footsteps could be heard echoing from down a corridor further behind them. The Sea Devils were after them, and Spartus had little choice but to follow. Now, though, he knew that there was much more to the Doctor than met the eye. A tortured soul, that much was clear. He had been through much, and Spartus could empathise. War had left its mark on him, and it was obvious that the Doctor had gone through something very similar.

"Wait up," Spartus said after him, jogging to catch up. Getting into the fortress and the base had been hard enough. Now he could only wonder as to what awaited them outside, since those mercenaries had been right in the middle of their attack when he had snuck in. Was the Doctor aware of this? If he was, he did not seem to care, and he marched onwards without even looking back. All the more reason, Spartus figured, for him to rush ahead and make sure his way off of this planet did not get gunned down. He moved ahead, brushing past the Doctor as they walked out into the cavern.

Surprisingly, it was empty, and strangely quiet. The Doctor walked on relentlessly, paying no attention to Spartus. The pair made their way up the stairs and into the bowels of the fortress. Spartus was wary of what lay ahead, and as they came up into the inner keep, he found the silence unnerving. It had become far too quiet, as if the battle outside had ended and for whatever reason the mercenaries had not advanced any further. Could they be all dead? It seemed unlikely. The Doctor made his way to the door, but Spartus shifted in front of him, blocking his path.

"Don't," he said, eyeing the Doctor. "You notice something?"

"Yes. You're in my way."

"No, no. The silence."

The rain outside continued to fall, pattering against the windows and running down the roof. Somewhere distant, thunder rumbled. Otherwise, the night outside was quiet. If there were people out there, they were not making any sounds at all.

"There were a bunch of mercs out there when I came in," Spartus said.

The Doctor considered this for a moment. Slowly, he grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. He peered through the narrow gap, looking out into the muddy and open courtyard beyond. He then glanced at Spartus, and nodded his head.

"It looks clear to me."

"I'll go ahead," Spartus said. He held up his gravity pistol for emphasis. "I'm the one with the gun, after all."

The Doctor did not say anything. Carefully, Spartus pushed open the door, just enough for him to squeeze through. The air outside was chilly, and the rain only compounded this. Mud squelched under his booted feet. He looked towards the entrance, and then up to the crumbling walls of the fortress. The first thing he noticed were the bodies. Several dead Sea Devils and human mercenaries were scattered around. Blood trickled onto the mud, mixing into puddles of water. One Sea Devil nearby was slowly crawling along, bearing several bloody exit wounds at its back. It did not seem to notice him, nor the Doctor as he stepped outside. He looked over at one of the dead mercenaries and then turned to Spartus.

"This is what I wanted to avoid," he said, his tone level. There might have been anger there, Spartus could not be certain. If there was, the Doctor was keeping it well under control.

"Where to now?" Spartus asked.

"Where to?" The Doctor considered this for a moment. "I'd like to find my ship, for one. I think Lockwood might have taken it, but if he did, it wasn't at this house." He stopped in the shade out the front of the keep for a moment, seemingly deciding on which way to go. After a moment, he gestured to the rear of the fortress. "This way."

"How can you be sure?"

"I'm not. Come on."

Spartus rolled his eyes and fell into step behind the Doctor. The pair made their way around the keep and to the fortress' rear entrance. Here, they passed through an open gate set in the wall, before coming out onto a mostly empty gravel lot. There was a flatbed truck here, and on its back there lay a sizeable blue box. It was a peculiar sight, and Spartus had certainly never seen anything like it. Along the top of it were the words 'Police Box'. What use would something like that be to police, he wondered? The Doctor, meanwhile, seemed pleased. He strode towards it, climbing onto the back of the flatbed.

"This is it," he announced.

"What is?"

"My ship." He pulled a key from one pocket and put it into the lock on the door. The whole thing lay on its side, and he had to kneel by it in order to put the key in. Spartus was not impressed, especially given its size. Of course, he knew better than judge by appearances. His experience with Time Lords in the past was limited, but he had certainly heard many rumours about them.

Behind them, voices could be heard. Spartus turned around, watching as a trio of Sea Devils appeared at the fortress' rear entrance. They started after the pair, weapons raised. Despite his misgivings, it appeared that Spartus had little choice as to where he should go. The Doctor climbed into the box, disappearing into the darkness within. Spartus climbed onto the back of the truck, looking back at the approaching Sea Devils before he climbed in after the Doctor.

Inside, he felt an odd lurch as his feet found the floor, rather than a wall. The whole interior, he realised, was the right way up. It was large, a control room of sorts, with a central column comprised of a transparent glass cylinder and a hexagonal console around it, one that was covered in numerous buttons, levers and computer displays. A gantry ran around it, with a corridor starting at the far end and bookshelves at the far left. The lighting within was subdued, and the grey-blue metals the walls and floors were comprised of gave the whole thing an almost utilitarian quality. Easy on the eyes, and practical in appearance. Not entirely what Spartus had been expecting when he had climbed inside.

The Doctor, meanwhile, had waltzed over to the central console and was fiddling with the controls. He barely looked over at Spartus, too engrossed in his own activities to care much as to what the alien soldier was thinking.

"I heard about these," Spartus said. "Time Lords and their oversized interiors."

"Oh, really?" The Doctor looked over to him. He pulled a lever, and the door behind Spartus closed. "That must mean you're not going to stand over there like a stunned mullet for too long, then?"

"What about the Sea Devils?"

"Three hundred Sea Devils couldn't break down that door, so I wouldn't worry about _three_ of them," the Doctor replied.

"Great." Spartus walked over to the central console. Here, the Doctor picked up a set of black sunglasses. It seemed hardly the appropriate time for fashionable eyewear. Leaving the console for a moment, the Doctor walked up a set of steps nearby, going to a coat hanger where a jacket much like the one he had been wearing earlier that day was hanging. Taking it down, he slid it on, before placing the sunglasses into an outside pocket.

"What now?" Spartus asked.

"What now?" The Doctor seemed to consider this for a moment. "What do you think, Sparty?"

 _"Sparty?"_ The alien frowned, but the Doctor did not seem to notice, nor did he appear to care.

"We could leave, couldn't we?" Spartus suggested, after some thought. "If this is your spacecraft, then we could leave right now, couldn't we?"

"We could." The Doctor's voice became grim as he said this, his eyes going to a computer display on the console. Something appeared to be on his mind. From one pocket, he pulled out the Gallifreyan Time Ring that had brought Spartus to Earth and set it upon the console. "We could leave, certainly. But we would be leaving the Sea Devils to their own devices. And that might not work out in humanity's favour."

Spartus could tell that there was more to it than just leaving.

"I want to know, Spartus," the Doctor said, turning his head to the alien. "I really want to know why you were put on Earth. And I know it's something to do with the Time Ring, that's obvious. But we can't leave. I can't even risk switching on the engine. The TARDIS has a habit of overshooting her intended stopping point."

"So we're staying?"

"We're staying," the Doctor replied. He took his hands off of the controls.

"We had a deal…" Spartus began, feeling his frustration spike. He had not come all this way just to have his way off Earth blocked now.

"Hardly. I said I _could_ take you home." The Doctor looked straight into Spartus' eyes. Spartus could see that the eyes the Doctor gazed at him were very old, carrying the weight of everything they had seen over the many years the Doctor had lived. Compared to him, Spartus' life must have been nothing more than a flash of violence and discontent.

At the doors, there was the sound of thumping, as the Sea Devils outside attempted to break in. They were not having much success.

"You _could?_ "

"But I won't. I can't. Not now."

"Not now?" Spartus felt his hearts lurch. Anger spiked and he looked down at the console, feeling the urge to break something. The Doctor must have sensed his anger, as he took a step forwards, putting them almost face-to-face.

"What did you do for a living, Spartus?" The Doctor asked.

"What did I do?" He looked to the Doctor, his eyes widening slightly. "I fought in a war. Why?"

"Do you have anywhere to go? Any home of your own?" It was a piercing question, and the Doctor's equally piercing eyes appeared to be almost gazing into Spartus' soul. The effect was certainly compounded by his pronounced eyebrows. "You don't, do you?"

Spartus shook his head slowly. All this talk of wanting to get home had been only partially true.

"My home's gone."

"So is mine, in a way." The Doctor spoke solemnly. "You left your world because you wanted to find adventure, didn't you? Because I left my home for partly that same reason. My planet, despite its wonders, became a dull place and there were entire rules and laws that outright made having any fun practically a crime. So I left. I took this ship, this TARDIS, and I left. I didn't think much of it when I did it. Now, though, now I've been trying to get home for a long time. I know home's out there, and I know I found it, or rather, _it_ found _me_ , but aside from that there's a big hole in my memory that I've been trying to work out."

"No luck?"

"None. A few flashes here and there, nothing that makes sense. At least you know where your home is. I'm still trying to remember." The Doctor paused. He looked down at the control console. "So, Spartus, I can't take you off Earth. Not yet. We have a duty of care here. In a way, all this business with the Sea Devils is my fault. I opened the way into their base for Lockwood. I didn't count on the fact that the place would be automated enough to start waking them up."

"And there are hundreds of them sleeping underground."

"Thousands upon thousands more scattered in similar places across the Earth," the Doctor added. "If Karva can get access to a powerful enough source of energy, he can bring the base back to full operating capacity. He can communicate with other shelters. He may even be able to start waking up not only his Sea Devils, but Earth Reptiles the world over."

"We have to stop him."

"Of course he has to be stopped. He'll start a war and there's a good chance he'll lose, but not before he's killed a ridiculous amount of people."

"And that's why we can't leave?"

"We're always free to leave." The Doctor put a hand to a small metal lever upon the console. "Doesn't mean we should."

Spartus sighed in resignation. He would be stuck on Earth for a little longer, it seemed. It was not all bad, he figured. He would actually be doing something useful for a change, instead of running. He had been running ever since his war had ended, ever since he had escaped from the custody of the Galactic Federation.

"I'm an idiot," the Doctor said suddenly. This was enough to derail Spartus' train of thought.

"What?"

"I'm an idiot," the Doctor repeated, louder this time, his voice taking on an almost excited tone. He turned to Spartus, eyes wide, and he took his hands from the console before putting them to Spartus' shoulders. "I should have known. It was right there in front of me the whole time!" He put one hand to his forehead, as if to slap himself for committing some kind of mistake.

"You're going to have to explain."

"Explain?" The Doctor glanced at him, his eyes wide and his eyebrows poised for attack. "No, no, there's not enough time. We've got Sea Devils pounding on the door, after all."

"But I thought you said they're no threat?"

"Oh, they're not. But they'll ruin the paintwork." As if to emphasis this point, there was another series of thumps from the doors, as the Sea Devils outside started firing their weapons at the TARDIS. "The power plant, don't you see?"

"What power plant?"

"The experimental one. The new one. Designed to provide power to the whole country."

"Scotland's a country?" Spartus had a very limited knowledge of Earth geography. He was still unsure of just how Scotland fit into it all, if it even did.

"Sort of. But I'm talking about the whole of the United Kingdom. What kind of power would be required, to provide that many homes with energy?"

Spartus could see what the Doctor was getting at.

"Something very sophisticated?"

"Something experimental, unstable. Perhaps even alien." He put a hand to his chin, absently scratching above his mouth. "I need to find it. I need to see what it is. The Sea Devils, they know about it. I saw it on their map."

Spartus could really only watch the Doctor as he ranted. Presumably this was how the man's mind worked, causing him to talk aloud and pace about like a restless animal at the zoo, one waiting for feeding time. Spartus said nothing, he felt he did not need to, and interrupting the Doctor when he was acting like this might annoy him. He had already tasted the Doctor's anger, so Spartus thought it best he kept his mouth shut for now.

"I need to go to that power station," the Doctor said.

"Can't we use this ship?"

"I didn't stop here for no reason. Something's upset her and she won't start." He paused, giving the matter some thought.

"Try again."

The Doctor rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the control panel. He fiddled with a few dials and knobs, before pulling down a lever. The central glass column began to shift up and down, and the air became filled with a grinding noise, as if something rough and metal rubbed harshly against a rocky surface. Spartus could only assume this was the ship's engines, and they did not sound entirely healthy. Even the Doctor frowned, as if he had not been expecting this. Like a car failing to start, the TARDIS' engines grinded to a halt, coughing and sputtering. This did not fill Spartus with a great deal of confidence.

"Engine trouble?" Spartus asked.

"The time-storm must have dislodged or burnt out something important," the Doctor said. He spoke quietly, more to himself than to Spartus. He moved around the console, adjusting a few dials, before pulling a computer monitor set upon a swivel around to face him. "It'll take some hours to fix. HJours we don't have."

"Any ideas?"

The Doctor turned to him. His face seemed to light up, a thought occurring to him.

"We have a truck." He spoke excitedly, as if the idea of driving a truck was some sort of adventure to him. Spartus did not know what to make of all this. He felt as if it was too much information too quickly, compounded by the odd way in which the Doctor spoke as if his 'TARDIS' was a living entity. From the look of it, the craft was a machine, a very sophisticated one at that but nothing more.

Spartus was beginning to doubt that the Doctor would ever be able to get him home. Nonetheless, he looked to the doors. The thumping had stopped, the Sea Devils outside having presumably given up their attempts to get inside. The Doctor seemed preoccupied, and was mulling over the control console in an effort to work out what the problem was. He did not appear to be having much luck.

"We going out?" Spartus asked, turning to him.

"Hmm?" The Doctor looked up. "Of course, Sparty. Do you know how to hotwire a vehicle?"

"Hotwire? What the hell does that mean?"

"Of course not. Why would you? You're not even from this planet. Fat lot of good you are." He shrugged, dismissing Spartus' annoyed glance. "Well, we can't just walk. It's pouring rain out there."

"What do you suggest, since your magic box isn't working?"

"I'll start the truck," the Doctor said. He reached for the lever on the console that Spartus guessed controlled the doors. "You keep an eye out."

"And if there are Sea Devils right outside?"

"Well, we'll just have to improvise, won't we?"

Spartus shook his head. The Doctor was certainly not one for elaborate plans, but this was getting ridiculous. He pulled out his gravity pistol, only for the lights to dim inside the control room. This lasted for a moment, before they came back on to their full brightness.

"What was that?"

"The TARDIS. She doesn't like guns."

"Anything else she doesn't like?" Spartus lowered the gun, holding it by his side, barrel pointed to the floor.

"Now that you mention it, she doesn't like chewing gum, gasoline and peanut shells."


	22. Getaway

**Getaway**

The battle that had occurred out in the fortress, in the mud and the pouring rain, had resulted in several deaths on both sides. Havartiss found himself walking through the courtyard, surrounded by bodies both Sea Devil and human. Most were outright dead, although one Sea Devil nearby was crawling along, pushing himself with his arms, while his left leg ended in a bloody, ragged stump above the knee. He stopped at the nearby wall, coming to rest in a puddle of his own blood, and he remained there, unmoving.

The remaining human soldiers had retreated. The Sea Devil side was not looking much better, and Havartiss checked the bodies he found of his fallen comrades. Most were dead, riddled with bullets, the human weapons having proven their effectiveness once again. Enough concentrated fire would shred their armour, and certain types of ammunition and higher calibres were completely capable of penetrating their protective plating. Despite what Karva might think, the humans had an advantage, and the prospect of war with them became less and less appealing the more Havartiss saw of the remains of the battle here in the courtyard.

Still, he had his orders. The Doctor and his alien companion were out here somewhere.

The rain above had eased, going from a downpour to a light drizzle, and the thunder and lightning was beginning to die down. There were footprints in the mud, heading around the inner keep, two pairs that Havartiss knew right away belonged to the two escapees. He motioned for his subordinates to follow, and they headed out of the rear entrance of the fortress, coming to the empty lot outside. The gravel underfoot crunched loudly, and was littered with puddles of varying sizes and depths. Ahead, set on the back of a flatbed truck, was a large blue box of sorts. It was a peculiar sight, covered in human lettering that Havartiss could not make immediate sense of. As he watched, the doors on the side opened, and the alien intruder climbed out. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he saw through the shadows at the trio of Sea Devils. His gun was up and Havartiss hit the ground as the exotic alien weapon fired, sending a thunderous wave of force shooting over him. It connected with the wall at his rear, causing part of it to explode in a shower of debris, bringing forth a cloud of dust that enveloped Havartiss and made him cough. The other two Sea Devils spread out and began to open fire, white bolts of searing energy darting through the rain and lighting up the dark.

* * *

Spartus had half-expected to be fired upon as soon as he was out of the TARDIS, so the fact that there were more Sea Devils waiting outside for him was hardly a surprise. He sent one of them diving to the ground before the other two began shooting at him. The bolts of energy burned through the metal of the truck, but those that struck the outside of the TARDIS hardly left a mark. He moved quickly, getting to the driver's cabin before another bolt of energy hit the side window. It shattered, raining glass upon him. Through doing so, he was able to reach in and unlock the door from the inside. Climbing in, he found himself faced with the dashboard of a vehicle he had no idea how to operate. He was an alien, after all, and on his home planet they had not used 'cars' or 'trucks' like this. In fact, he had left his home-world before he had even learned how to drive one of their ground vehicles.

Still, the principle had to be the same. He fired a shot out of the window absently, sending one of the other Sea Devils diving as the blast hit the ground near him, causing a small eruption of mud that came down in a small shower. Where was the Doctor? He was supposed to be out here with him, and from the look of it Spartus needed his help. He gripped the wheel of the truck, his foot going to the accelerator. His other foot brushed upon the clutch, and his left hand went to the gear-stick. This was no simple vehicle, he realised, and he was at an even greater loss than before.

"What are you waiting for?" The Doctor's voice broke into his thoughts, and he found that the Time Lord had appeared at the other door. "Start the engine, you dolt."

Spartus looked around, finding the ignition keyhole but no keys.

"Open the door," the Doctor barked, banging on the window with one hand. Another bolt of energy hit the door near Spartus, and the inside of it visibly blackened from the heat, sending a small wisp of smoke trailing up from the impact point. Spartus reached over and unlocked the door for the Doctor. He scrambled inside, closing it behind him.

Spartus saw one of the Sea Devils was beginning to move around the truck. The Doctor put on his sunglasses, an odd move given the time of day, and he leaned forwards and began to peer at the ignition. A faint buzzing noise could be heard emanating from the sunglasses, and Spartus found himself baffled by what he was seeing.

"What are you doing?" Spartus stuck his gun out of the broken side window, firing a pulse at the Sea Devil who was attempting to flank. It hit the ground near him, the force of the impact enough to send the Sea Devil flying off of his feet, causing him to land in the grass along the edge of the gravel lot.

"I'm attempting to find the right frequency that'll start the engine," the Doctor said. He sounded very calm, despite the circumstances. His brow was furrowed in concentration. "You ever driven a truck before?"

"Not any truck from this planet."

The Doctor did not reply. Suddenly, the engine rumbled into life, coughing and sputtering as it did. The Doctor took off his sunglasses, tucking them into a pocket as he motioned towards the accelerator pedal.

"Go on," he said. Another bolt of searing energy hit the windshield, shattering it. Glass rained down upon the pair of them. Spartus hit the accelerator and the engine roared, but it did not move.

"The clutch," the Doctor said. "Of all the trucks in the world, and we have to end up with the tired old manual." He sighed, and he sat back against the chair, running a hand over his face. "We're really in trouble now, aren't we?"

The radio had switched on with the engine, and now an old 1980s tune blared through the speakers. Outside, the Sea Devils were encroaching upon them. Spartus put the clutch down and the Doctor, somewhat helpfully, put the gear-stick into first.

" _Can you hear me? Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?"_ The volume was surprisingly loud, but it at least drowned out the sounds of weapons fire from outside. Spartus brought up the clutch, sending the truck lurching forwards, verging it upon stalling before it finally began rolling along.

"Put it in," the Doctor instructed. "The clutch, I mean." He sighed. He must have felt like a driving instructor.

"Don't be like that," Spartus said, guiding the truck onto the gravel path ahead. "I'm not from around here."

"They don't have cars where you come from?"

"No, as a matter of fact they don't."

Spartus did as he was told and the Doctor put the gear-stick to second. They were moving along now, leaving the Sea Devils behind them. The three of them were firing at them, one giving chase, but even they could not keep up with the escaping truck. Another bolt of energy slammed into the back window, shattering it, sending in the cold breeze and the rain. The bolt of white hot energy zipped by Spartus' left arm, and he felt its heat brush against him. He felt his hearts lurch. Any closer and he might have lost a limb.

He followed the gravel path around, putting it through the gravel patch near the front of the fortress, where a few cars were parked. Cutting through here, he sent the truck speeding onto the narrow gravel road that wound across the plain, heading for the perimeter fence. The gate was wide open, and there were still the bodies of dead guards here from earlier. Spartus felt a wave of relief as they departed the fortress and its surrounding perimeter, putting the Sea Devils and all the other nasty business behind them. All the while an only somewhat well-known eighties song blared out of the speakers.

" _Swear allegiance to the flag, whatever flag they offer; never hint at what you really feel…"_

Spartus glanced over at the Doctor. His eyes were narrowed, his face scrunched up into a grim expression.

"What's the matter?" Spartus asked. "We got out alive. That's enough of an excuse to celebrate."

"Field Marshall Karva is going to launch an attack," the Doctor said, his eyes straight ahead. Wind and rain billowed in through the shattered windshield. "It's far from over, Sparty."

"Karva?"

"The Sea Devil in charge." The Doctor turned his head, looking to Spartus. "He's dangerous. And he intends on doing as much damage to human civilisation as he possibly can. You saw what happened to Gasrava, the scientist. What that gas did to him?"

"I didn't mean for that to happen, by the way." Spartus immediately regretted saying that. It sounded so feeble now, given that the deed was done. The Doctor did not appear to notice, and put a hand to his chin, scratching at it thoughtfully.

"Imagine what it'll do to a human," the Doctor said. Spartus could certainly imagine it. The thought disgusted him, and in his years of fighting in a brutal war, he could not recall seeing something quite as disturbing as what had happened to that Sea Devil scientist. If this Karva got his way, then a whole lot more people would die. He could tell that the Doctor intended to prevent this, and for better or worse, he would be dragged along. After all, the Doctor was his ticket off of Earth, and he would have to stick by him no matter what the crackpot got up to next.

* * *

The vehicles stored within the Sea Devil base were in a similar condition to the rest of the place. Sleek and low to the ground, the three 'land-crawlers' they were able to salvage were somewhat beaten and rusted in places. Nonetheless, they were adequate for their purposes, all three situated in a large cavern deep underground that was connected to the main facility through a series of tunnels and caves. Ahead was a large pool of seawater, leading into an undersea cave that in turn opened onto the ocean itself. The crawlers were amphibious vehicles, capable of crossing the seabed as well as land itself. They were perfect for Karva's purposes.

He stood nearby, readying one of their drones for deployment of the gas. He had since salvaged several canisters of the gas from the store room in the lab, and had loaded some into a few of the drones they had. The drones themselves were small, spherical things with sleek wings, each about as large as Karva's head, fitted with sensors that were able to provide real-time feeds of thermal and regular imaging to monitors within the base and on board the land-crawlers themselves. Each crawler had its rear ramp down and extended, and Sea Devil warriors were marching into the back of each vehicle, kitted out in armour and armed with varying types of energy weapons, from the small disc-shaped side-arms to larger portable rifles with long, cylindrical barrels.

Havartiss approached him then. The young Commander had doubt etched upon his face, and his eyes went to the drones that were spread out before Karva.

"What of the Doctor, and his alien companion?" Karva asked, looking up from his work.

"They escaped in a land vehicle," Havartiss replied. Karva seemed to consider this for a moment, before slowly shaking his head and returning to his work.

"We will find them," he said confidently. "They won't get far. As for the rest of us, we have work to do." He put aside one of the powered-down drones. Havartiss was watching him, his eyes narrowed, a careful and examining gaze upon his face.

"Are you going to deploy that gas, Field Marshall?" He asked.

"As a means of softening up the human targets," Karva replied. The dim light of the cavern filtered off of the surface of the water, casting wavering pulses of blue light upon his face. For a moment there, Havartiss thought he could see the madness in the Field Marshall's eyes. A desire to see every ape dead and more, to see the entire planet reclaimed at the cost of millions of lives. He saw the determination to achieve this through any means necessary, even if it meant using an abhorrent weapon such as Gasrava's mutagenic gas, the same thing that had killed its creator so brutally. Something told Havartiss that using such a weapon carried an inherent 'wrongness' to it, but he did not say as much. Karva's mind was set and there was little he could do to dissuade their leader.

"Get on board your transport, Commander," Karva ordered, looking up from the drone he was working on. "There is no use waiting around here. Time waits for no one. If we are going to take back this planet, we will need to go out there and do it ourselves. It will not happen on its own, unfortunately."

"Of course, Field Marshall." Havartiss did not sound too enthused. Nonetheless, he walked over to the rear ramp of the nearest land-crawler. Livakresh was seated inside this one, and she watched him as he approached, offering him the Sea Devil equivalent of a friendly smile as he sat down across from her. As for Karva, he began handing off the drones to other warriors, ensuring that each transport got a few. Finally, he took up a large side-arm and stowed it into a holster at his waist before approaching the crawler that Havartiss had climbed inside. As he came aboard, the rear ramp retracted, lifting itself up before closing over the back of the vehicle. Hissing noises filled the passenger area as the inside pressurised accordingly, in preparation for heading underwater.

"Today will be the day we start the reclamation of our world," Karva announced. "And it will be a glorious day, mark my words. The apes, the humans, they will stand little chance against us. As soon as we awaken our brethren in the shelter and elsewhere, then it does not matter how outnumbered we may be, for the humans will quake before our combined strength." He spoke with confidence, and with a look in his eyes that was both determined and unnerving. Havartiss had no love for the humans, but surely there had to be a better way, other than gassing as many as they could? The whole venture seemed foolhardy and premature, driven more by Karva's lust for revenge than any real tactical sense. Perhaps Havartiss was not the only one who thought this, as he looked about the room. He saw that Livakresh seemed uncertain herself, but like him she knew better than to question orders. As for the younger soldiers they had been grouped with, many of them were nodding their heads in approval, no doubt enraptured by the prospect of going into battle with their leader. There was a certain excitement to it, but no matter how hard Havartiss tried, he himself could not get excited.

* * *

The dust had settled over the battle of the fortress. Lockwood had witnessed much of it from his perch upon the hill some distance beyond the fortress's outer walls. Gunshots had flashed out from within, as had the occasional thump of a grenade detonation. And then, after several minutes, the mercenaries had fallen back. Most had been downed by the Sea Devils, yet even these amphibious foes had suffered many casualties. In all, from where Lockwood was standing, the whole battle had been fairly even. Despite his hopes and intentions, the mercenaries had failed to penetrate the inner defences and as a result had not been able to deploy their explosives within the Sea Devil's underground base. Really, it was all one big failure, and he intended to alert Van Statten to the fact that the mercenaries he had recommended had flat-out failed to achieve their objectives. So much for them being the "best".

Lockwood put aside the binoculars, watching as a truck came blazing out of the perimeter, lurching onto the road as the driver grinded the gears. It was the truck that carried the Doctor's TARDIS, and Lockwood could only guess as to who was driving it, but he figured his guess was fairly accurate. Of course the Doctor had been able to get in and get his machine back, it should not have come as a surprise, knowing the man's reputation. Now he was getting away, leaving Lockwood with a bunch of angry Sea Devils to contend with, compounded by the disgruntled mercenaries who were on their way back to him.

He loitered by one of the vans the mercenaries had arrived in. Most of the equipment that had been inside had been taken with them, although some of it remained. Vests and submachine guns mainly, as well as a few gas masks thrown in for good measure. As Lockwood considered his options, he heard a familiar and unwelcome voice call out from nearby.

"You limey bastard," Hawker said, as he stepped into view. Two of his mercenary friends accompanied him. Hawker himself had a nasty gash on his forehead but otherwise he appeared to be relatively unscathed.

"You were briefed on the details, Mister Hawker," Lockwood countered. "Hardly makes me a 'bastard', does it?"

Hawker had a look of fury on his face, his eyes wide as he stepped towards Lockwood. The Captain remained where he was, not one to let himself be intimidated too easily.

"I think you did quite well, given the circumstances," Lockwood added. "The Sea Devils are trapped. All we have to do is keep them surrounded." He did not entirely believe this himself. Hawker did not appear too concerned with what he had to say. He walked over to the van, going to the passenger side where he opened the door and pulled out a satellite phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling for reinforcements," Hawker replied. He began to dial a number in earnest, but Lockwood stepped towards him and shook his head.

"I hardly think that's appropriate," he said. "We've already caused quite the scene here. Any more gun-toting thugs show up and we'll draw unwanted attention."

"Is that what you're afraid of?" Hawker huffed in derision. "You're so worried about your own reputation, your own _neck_ , that you'd rather leave those fish people in that fortress? They have an _underground base_. In case you don't know what that might mean, it suggests that they might have other ways out. I'm going to call in for help, and we're going to level the whole damn fortress if we have to. You're the one with the bottomless pockets, you should be able to pay off some important people to make sure the whole thing is swept under the rug." Hawker's anger was palpable, and in some ways Lockwood understood it. However, he did not wish to bring on the attention of UNIT, or any other government organization for that matter. If they caught wind of what was happening here, and they likely would with the Doctor involved, then Lockwood would rather the whole affair be kept low-key.

"Surely someone of your calibre does not need reinforcements?" Lockwood asked.

Hawker rolled his eyes. There would be no reasoning with him. Lockwood sighed, glancing over at the other two mercenaries. They were both watching him, and from the looks in their eyes they might have been very well considering killing him. It would simplify things, but it would also ensure they would not get paid. Lockwood had advanced half of the agreed payment prior to their arrival, if they wanted the rest they would have to play along. Yet even Hawker did not seem too concerned about that, intent on bringing even more people here, as if he wanted to start a war. That was what the Doctor had wanted to stop, was it not? For all intents and purposes, the war had started, Lockwood only wanted it finished before UNIT could get involved.

Somewhere above, there came a faint and distant droning sound. Like a remote-controlled helicopter, Lockwood thought, and his eyes went up to where they fell upon a silvery, sleekly shaped craft about a metre in width flying some distance above the plain. Hawker and the other mercenaries also noticed it, and one of them pointed their rifle at it, tracking its movements as it zipped overhead. In its wake, a bluish cloud of smoke wafted from its tail, spreading out over the plains and the fortress perimeter.

Lockwood did not waste any time when he saw the cloud of gas spreading. Rushing for the back of the van, he snatched up one of the gas masks, ensuring the filter was fitted on properly before placing it over his face. The Sea Devils had deployed their secret weapon, from the look of it, and Lockwood was not going to take any chances. As for Hawker, he started for the back of the van, but Lockwood pulled out his old Webley revolver, pointing it in the mercenary's direction.

"There'll be no reinforcements, Hawker," he said, his voice muffled through the mask. Hawker glared at him, anger in his eyes, seemingly unaware of the light cloud of blue smoke that had begun to descend upon them. "I'm cutting my losses. That includes you and your friends. From here on, this whole business is someone else's problem." Lockwood swivelled around, sighting one of the other mercenaries who had gone to raise his rifle at him. Instead, Lockwood fired his revolver without hesitation. He knew what he had to do now, and it involved getting as far away from here as humanly possible. He had plenty of money, and he had always considered retiring to the Caribbean. Now was as good a time as any to do so.

The mercenary he shot fell into a heap in the mud, blood seeping out of a bloody hole in his upper chest. Lockwood shifted his aim and gunned down the other mercenary, shooting him twice, once in the chest and the second shot getting him through his head, the helmet he wore doing little to stop the .455 round. As for Hawker, Lockwood spun around to face him. The man's face was contorted into a look of rage, although that seemed to change into one of pain as the gas that had enshrouded them began to have its effects. His skin visibly rippled, as if something had started to grow underneath, and he fell to his knees as parts of it ruptured and blood began to seep out. Lockwood watched on, disgusted and fascinated all at once, as clumps of scaly skin broke free on the mercenary, his clothes tearing as his entire bone structure and muscle mass painfully shifted. Was this what the Sea Devils had in store for humanity? Lockwood figured that he should not need to worry too much about it, certainly not from his retirement mansion in the Caribbean. Or Madagascar.

As Hawker's skull seemingly split open to make room for the new one that had started to morph underneath it, blood pouring down his face, his mouth contorted into a look of agony, Lockwood took a step forwards and planted a bullet into the man's brain. The top of his head exploded, blood and brain matter erupting from it upon the impact. Hawker's mutilated body hit the mud before Lockwood with an undignified _squelch_. Lockwood looked around, aware that he was the last one standing, and with that thought he felt some satisfaction. He could leave all this behind, the whole fiasco.

Putting away his revolver, his breaths deep through the gas mask, he made his way into the driver's seat of the nearby van. Thankfully the keys were still in the ignition, so he was able to close the doors and get moving almost right away. The bluish gas had fallen across the plains, but was not thick enough to completely obscure one's view. It drifted along on the wind, with the van's fog-lights cutting through it with ease. All he had to do now was find a way out of Scotland.


	23. Inland

**Inland**

The Doctor and Spartus had been cruising along through the rain-soaked moors for an hour now. The UNIT command post was somewhere north and they had spent that time searching for it, passing through the town along their way. The trip was done mostly in silence, as the Doctor had descended into one of his own melancholy moods, content to mull over his own thoughts without saying a great deal. Spartus found this uncharacteristic of him, but said nothing to that extent, instead focusing on the road ahead and thinking over what would happen now.

The Sea Devils needed to be stopped. That much was apparent. Karva needed to be stopped especially, and if they were not then a lot of people were going to die. Spartus had never thought he would care much for what happened to the humans, yet despite how hard he tried to be callous and indifferent, he found the thought of letting the likes of Karva and his fishy friends enact their plans became more and more detestable, and in turn his determination to stop them grew. He had not experienced this kind of excitement for a while, and this was understandable given that he had spent the last six months locked up in an old man's cellar with himself for company, with the pain caused by the implant in his head.

This was going to be the start of a new chapter in his life, free of Lockwood and free of any of the baggage from the past. He had the Doctor to get him home, wherever that was now, all he had to do was stick by him and help him stop the Sea Devils. Spartus liked those odds. He had been in worse scrapes in the past, and fighting a bunch of fish people with energy weapons seemed like a downgrade from what he had been up against during the war.

"Thinking hard, Doc?" Spartus asked. The silence was a bit too awkward for his liking. The Doctor seemed the type to talk to himself, so it was all the stranger that he was as quiet as he was.

"It's 'Doctor'," the Doctor replied, turning to him.

"Doctor? So, is that a name, or a title?"

"Both." The Doctor sniffed the air, in a way reminiscent of an animal catching a scent. "Do you smell that?"

Spartus' sense of smell was more sensitive than that on the average human. Nonetheless, he could not smell anything immediately unusual. Rainwater, petrol, wet grass; those were the smells that hit his nostrils then. Yet something had caught the Doctor's attention. His gaze went out the windshield, and he lowered himself slightly as to look up at the dark, cloudy sky.

"There's something up there," he said. Spartus tried to get a look for himself, but at this angle the ceiling of the driver's cabin was in the way.

"There's a house up ahead," the Doctor said. "Pull over."

"What? Why?"

"Just do what I say," the Doctor said, his voice becoming stern. "No questions. There's no time for those."

Spartus brought the truck to a halt outside the old house. No one appeared to be home, which was perhaps convenient, given the fact that the Doctor seemed intent on breaking and entering. As soon as the truck stopped he was out, running around the side of the house. He motioned Spartus to follow, and the alien did so, but not before at least ensuring that the handbrake was on in the truck. He rushed after the Doctor, finding him standing by a set of angled doors at the base of the house. The entrance into a cellar of sorts, and Spartus found it strangely ironic that he had spent the last six month living in one, and when he had finally been able to escape he was simply going to go straight back into a cellar. Still, the Doctor was hurried, and underneath the look of concentration on his face, there was some genuine fear in his eyes.

Above, Spartus sighted the drone. It was high up, nothing more than a small silver shape against the dark grey sky, glinting in the moonlight. A bluish trail of vapour was left in its wake, and this cloud seemed to spread out from its rear, gradually descending like a fine spray. Spartus could only assume that this was the gas the Sea Devils had engineered, and so the Doctor's franticness suddenly made sense. As for the cellar doors, they appeared to be locked from the inside, and the Doctor had pulled out his sunglasses and likely intended to fiddle around in an attempt to get them to open the doors. Spartus knew they had no time for that.

He walked up alongside the Doctor and with as much force as he could muster, which was beyond what any ordinary human could, he planted a foot dead in the middle of the doors, and the lock gave way with a crunch, as did a few panels of wood. The doors hung open, and Spartus, his foot aching only slightly, leaned forwards and pulled one up. The Doctor stepped inside, and Spartus followed, before he closed the doors behind them.

"Not exactly airtight, is it?" The inside of the cellar was almost pitch dark. There were shelves and cabinets about the walls, and the ground underfoot was covered in a thin layer of dust and dirt. The whole place smelled of gasoline and mud. The Doctor was over at the cabinets, tearing them open, pulling items out and throwing them aside as he tried to find something that would help in the situation. Spartus' eyes adjusted to the dark and he sighted a roll of some sort of insulating foam by a bench at the far wall.

"Over there," he said, walking towards it. He picked it up, and the Doctor pulled a flashlight from one of the cabinets. Switching it on, he looked upon the roll approvingly.

"Put it over the doors," he said. "Quickly." The Doctor went through the next set of shelves, pulling off a few garden tools, throwing them aside where they clanked and clunked. Finally, he found a nail gun of sorts, and he breathed an audible sigh of relief when he found that the battery pack fitted to it was still functioning. He threw it to Spartus, who caught it in one hand and rushed to the cellar doors.

He could smell something. It reminded him of the lab in the Sea Devil base. He knew then he should hold his breath, and he did so, rolling a length of the insulation across the door before he applied the nail gun, each pull of the trigger emitting a satisfying _clunk_ as the nails hit home. He ripped off further sections of the material, doing his best to cover up every exposed gap. Already thin wisps of blue smoke were seeping through, and he found himself hurriedly covering them up, keeping his breath in as he did so. He could hold it for a fair bit longer than any average human could, yet even so the work here had him positively rasping when he finally let go. Taking a step back, he put aside the nail gun and roll of material, looking at the patchwork that had been nailed across the doors. It looked decent enough to keep out the gas, all he and the Doctor had to do was stand well away from the doors.

"What now?" He asked, catching his breath. He turned to the Doctor, who was standing at the far end of the cellar.

"We wait." The Doctor seemed content now, calm enough to simply hang around.

"Are the Sea Devils seriously spraying that gas out there?" Spartus asked. He realised it was a stupid question, but the Doctor nodded his head in reply.

"Field Marshall Karva's attempt to strike back at human civilisation," the Doctor said. Disgust laced his voice. "I don't think he has much of the stuff to begin with and maybe there's a chance he'll blow what little supply he has. What I'm worried about is whether he'll be able to synthesize more. His chief scientist is dead, but he seems like the resourceful type. And that's not to mention the fact that it could very easily get into the water, or spread through transmission from an infected individual."

"We need a cure."

"A cure?" The Doctor sounded sceptical. "You saw what it did to poor old Gasrava. You can't 'cure' something that acts that quickly. Even if you did, the victims going to remain looking like a crude mash-up of species. No, we have to stop Karva." He narrowed his brow. "That's the only answer. We stop Karva, and his friends might lose interest in pursuing things any further."

"We kill him?"

"No, I didn't say that." He paced about the back end of the cellar, shaking his head. "No, Sparty, we don't need to kill him. We need to _stop_ him. Sometimes I think you like the whole 'killing' stuff a bit too much."

"Maybe I do?" Spartus walked towards him, and shrugged his shoulders. "Hasn't let me down yet."

"Has it?" The Doctor frowned. "You're a soldier, aren't you? You were, anyway.

"What about it?"

"What war did you fight in?"

Spartus did not reply. He glanced back at the door, noticing a few thin wisps of the gas were seeping in. Nothing significant, and it went no further than the immediate proximity of the door itself. Spartus considered his response carefully. The Doctor was a Time Lord, and he likely had no love for the renegade Time Lord whom Spartus had fought for. He did not wish to blow off his only chance to get away from Earth.

"A civil war," Spartus replied, turning back to the Doctor. It was a partial truth. "The Galactic Federation collapsed and the Ice Warriors annexed my home-world."

"You have a family?" The Doctor seemed to be considering the information very carefully. Judging from the look on his face, he did not entirely believe Spartus. Even so, he did not say anything to that effect.

"I had a brother, you know about him. And a father. My mother, she committed suicide in the early days of the war. The whole thing got a bit too much for her." He paused, considering what else to add. Just how much should the Doctor know? How much did he _want_ to know? Something told him that no matter what he told the Doctor, he would find out the full truth eventually. It was simply a matter of getting off of this planet before that happened.

"I don't have much of a family anymore," Spartus added.

"I know the feeling." The Doctor leaned against the bench behind him. "And so you left your home planet to become a criminal?"

"A criminal?" Spartus shook his head. He was almost insulted. "Hardly a criminal. An independent contractor, really. I got assignments and I carried them out. Some might not have been completely legal, but it was a living. You can't surely hate me for wanting to make a living, and doing it in the best way I could?"

The Doctor did not reply. He looked past Spartus towards the door, his attentions diverted. They had been down here for several minutes, and judging from the smell in the air it seemed that the gas still lingered up above. The pair were cast in the glow from a solitary flashlight, and that in turn left eerie shadows upon the walls. Somewhere outside, thunder rumbled and the rain started again in earnest.

"That rain's going to bring the gas down," the Doctor said, absently. "Pollute the water, maybe the Earth. We just need to hope that when it dissipates, it's gone completely. Something tells me even Gasrava didn't want his creation to linger any longer than it needed to. It'd be counter-productive if the Sea Devils were going to conquer a contaminated world."

Spartus nodded in acknowledgement. The Doctor no longer seemed interested in talking about his past, and for that Spartus felt some relief. Any more piercing questions and he might not have so many convincing lies to tell the Doctor. Still, sooner or later the Time Lord would work it out. He probably had a massive database on his TARDIS, filled to the brim with information that would shed the truth about Spartus. It might even have him mentioned in it, he had no idea, and now his mind was simply going into overdrive about the many possibilities that might play out, all of them negative in some way. He hated feeling like this, yet with the Doctor helping him it was impossible not to consider them. Would he leave him stranded here, on Earth, if he found out the truth? About all the things he had done during the war, none of which he was particularly proud of? Of course, he could hate what he had done all he wanted to, it did not change the fact that he had committed such acts, and they were a part of his past and who he was now.

"How long are we going to stay down here?" Spartus asked.

"Until it's safe," the Doctor replied. "Not much more to it than that, really. Once we're out, we'll need to inform UNIT."

"UNIT?"

"Military 'friends' of mine," the Doctor explained. "They were in the area, keeping an eye on Lockwood. I'd say they've got bigger problems now."

* * *

Trundling inland, in a triangle formation, three sleek and somewhat battered land vehicles raced across the uneven plains and over the hills. Each one travelled with purpose, and their dark colouring and advanced alloys ensured that they were invisible to any thermal imaging that the human satellites high above might have sighted them with. They moved in the wake of the gas cloud, unopposed, and the first stop on their journey was the town of Machara. The village had been shrouded in a cloud of the bluish gas, and the Sea Devils heading there were unlikely to run into any real resistance. Even if the human inhabitants had been unscathed, many would not have known how to react to the arrival of the Sea Devils, and panic would have certainly reigned supreme. Instead, the village was eerily quiet, shrouded in a blue-grey mist.

Out on the horizon, the first rays of sunshine began to appear as sunrise came. It had been a long night for many in the region, but the day would be even longer.

* * *

Lockwood had paid a visit to town earlier that evening. It had been quiet then, save for the local tavern, which had naturally been the hub of activity for the Scottish village. Now, as he walked down the main street, squinting to see through the mist, he could see no signs of life whatsoever. The gas mask over his face had done its job, keeping the harmful biological agent out of his system. As an extra precaution, he had put on gloves and taped his sleeves and trousers legs tight against him, to keep the dangerous gas from touching any exposed skin. So far, it appeared to work only if directly inhaled, which was certainly good for him and, he figured, the rest of humanity.

However, not everyone had gas masks at their disposal, nor did they receive advance warning of a gas attack. The town was one such place, now shrouded in a bluish mist as the gas lingered. Trudging down the road, he gripped his revolver in one hand, and he made for the tavern as he had earlier that night.

It was five o'clock in the morning now, if his watch was anything to go by. Sunrise came early this far up north, not that he could see much of the rising sun through the mist. His breaths came deep and loud through the gas mask, and his face underneath was covered with sweat. All he needed was a car, and there were plenty around. Lockwood was no thief, so hotwiring and breaking and entering were things he had very little experience with.

As he walked for the tavern, he noticed that the mist was beginning to clear. On the road underfoot, he noticed a light blue powder had started to appear, and he could only assume that this was the end result of the gas. Did that mean it was becoming inert? How long did these things linger for? He really had no idea, as he had never expected once in his life to be the victim of a gas attack. He kept his mask on as he came to the door of the tavern. It was partially open, and he stopped for a moment before the doorway, feeling an increasing sense of dread, as if he were being watched. Childish, really, yet he could not shake the sensation.

With one gloved hand, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The mist was thin here, and blue powder covered the area closest to the door. Blood was splattered across the bar counter and some of the tables and chairs. Drinks had been spilled and furniture had been overturned. Feeling his heart pounding, Lockwood stepped towards the phone, taking it off the hook and putting it to his ear. There was a dial tone, so this was at least some consolation.

He dialled the number of an old friend and put it to his ear, which was covered over with a cloth wrap he had put around his head for that extra layer of protection and assurance.

"Hello? Could you put me through to Mr. Van Statten, please?" There was a pause as the secretary worked the phones, patching him through to his old friend. Unfortunately, he was met with a voicemail. Either Henry Van Statten did not want to talk to him, or he was genuinely busy. With him, Lockwood could not be certain as to which possibility was the likely one.

"Hello, Henry, it's me. You know who. And I'd just like to say, your mercenaries were no bloody help at all. I'm cutting my losses, and I suggest you get yourself the greatest lawyer in the world if _the_ y ever trace your involvement in this mess." With that, he hung up the phone.

From somewhere above, he heard a loud thump. He put the phone down and looked up, his heart lurching in his chest. Someone was upstairs. Clutching his revolver tightly, he looked to the staircase past the bar counter. Had someone survived the gas attack? There were several more thumps and thuds from upstairs, as if someone was knocking over furniture. Lockwood walked over to the base of the stairwell, his gaze going to the top of the stairs. A trail of blood was smeared along them, heading up. A survivor might have been up there, in need of help. Lockwood considered taking a look, if only to satisfy his curiosity.

A low, rolling growl echoed down the stairs then. It sounded like a wild animal, and its tones were raspy and ragged, as if it were seriously ill and short of breath. Lockwood froze, and a figure emerged from a room up the stairs. It shambled along on two legs, and it carried tattered, bloody strips of human clothing upon its form. However, its flesh was uneven and scaly, carrying a grey-blue colour to it, whilst the eyes were reptilian-like and narrow. It vaguely resembled a Sea Devil, but it did not carry itself like one. Bone-like spines protruded from its back and arms, and parts of it were visibly deformed, bumpy and misshapen. It saw Lockwood, and it immediately started down the steps, moving along on a foot that was bent at an odd angle. The whole creature was covered in dried blood, yet around its neck Lockwood sighted a silver necklace.

It occurred to him that he was looking upon one of the survivors of the gas attack. A wave of panic flowing through him, he raised his revolver and fired rapidly, the shots deafening within the close confines of the stairwell. Within seconds he had spent the four rounds that had been loaded in the weapon, and the creature stumbled and convulsed, bloody red holes having opened upon its chest. It fell forwards, tumbling down the stairs, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Lockwood stepped out of the way, his eyes going to the motionless corpse as it came to a halt near him.

Outside, he heard what sounded like an engine. A vehicle coming to a halt, even. Taking a breath and doing his best to compose himself, he went to the door, looking outside. The mist had mostly cleared, leaving more of the blue-grey powder in its wake, which now covered much of the street. There was no one right outside, and as he stepped out onto the street, he became aware of footsteps from the lane nearby. He turned, watching as a trio of Sea Devils in armour came marching towards him. They carried long rifle-like weapons with wide, cylindrical barrels that glowed with white energy. The three of them were helmetless, which Lockwood assumed meant the air was safe to breathe, or whatever the gas was made out of did not affect these amphibians. He went to raise his gun, but he realised then that it was empty. As the Sea Devils closed in on him, he saw someone he had not expected to see again anytime soon.

"You," the rasping voice said. From between the three Sea Devils appeared the one whom Lockwood had captured, before it had escaped. He was taller and broader than the others, and this made him easier to recognize.

Lockwood froze. There was little he could do, except run, and he figured that they would simply gun him down if he did. He dropped his revolver and put his hands up, deciding to take his chances.

"I say we should let bygones be bygones," he said, his voice muffled through the mask. The air must have been safe, so he took a chance and unstrapped the mask, removing it from his face. The lead Sea Devil, Karva, stepped forwards and closed the distance between them quickly. With one hand, he grabbed Lockwood by the neck and began to choke him. His grip was strong, vice-like even, and Lockwood could feel the pressure building on his windpipe. He could hardly make a noise, nor could he draw a proper breath, as Karva lifted him off of his feet a few inches, holding him by the neck with one hand.

After about a minute, Karva let him go, dropping him to the ground. He looked down at Lockwood, who coughed and spluttered, trying to catch his breath.

"Take him with us," Karva ordered his soldiers. "He may be of some use."

Two of the Sea Devils came forwards and hoisted up Lockwood by the arms. They began to drag him along, whilst he could do little else but tolerate the ride. There was some sort of large, armoured vehicle up ahead, and it carried no visible wheels, appearing as a large, sleekly-curved wedge shape. He could only assume it was Sea Devil in origin, some kind of land transport. The rear ramp was down and the two Sea Devils carried him up it, taking him inside the dingy interior before they threw him against the far wall. He found himself surrounded by more of the creatures, their eyes all training on him as Karva re-entered the vehicle.

"I have plans for you yet, ape," Karva said, leaving Lockwood to remain slumped against the wall. His heart pounded and the Sea Devils seated around him all looked as if they were going to lash out and strike him. He figured it best to keep his head down, and he did so, wondering what the Field Marshall could possibly have in store for him.


	24. Interlude III

**Interlude III**

Archov Prime had been forced into the Galactic Federation during the war with Morbius' rebel forces. The dominant species there, the vaguely reptilian humanoids whom Spartus was a part of, had always been isolationist, more concerned with their own affairs and leaving the rest of the galaxy to deal with its own problems. It was because of the war, and the far-reaching damage it had done, that the Federation had dispatched troops to claim the planet. Too many of the people from Archov Prime had elected to fight for the enemy, and their strength, resilience and fast-healing abilities had made them dangerous foes.

For over a year, the Federation retained its grip on the world, enforcing curfews and marshal law. Spartus had lived with his father and brother for much of that time, doing what he could to make life easier for them under the strict rule, but it was becoming increasingly difficult each and every day. Food had once been plentiful, and the seas had always been filled to the brim with fish. Now even their food supplies were dwindling, as the Federation and whatever other interlopers were here hoarded these things for themselves and put tight strangleholds upon any sort of farming or fishing industries. And now, after twelve months of gradually harshening conditions, the Federation was falling apart.

Spartus was not aware of the details, other than the fact that one of the Federation's member species, the so-called 'Ice Warriors', had outright abandoned the Federation government when they had elected a new, more military-minded leader. Now there had been open fighting between other races of the Federation and the Ice Warriors, and the planet of Archov Prime had become caught in the crossfire. Even now, there was fighting in the streets between alien armies who really had no business being there.

The decision had not been made lightly, but it had reached a point where Spartus had finally been able to convince his father that they needed to leave. There were transport ships taking Federation soldiers to and from the planet, on the edge of town. It was the best bet of getting off of the planet, it was simply on the other side of the Ice Warrior frontlines. Such a journey required a great deal of care, and so it was Spartus who lead the way for his brother and his father.

Above them, the sky was a deep purple-orange, as dusk gradually turned into night. The main street, which had once been bustling with life and activity, was now rubble-strewn and empty. Most civilians kept indoors, and those who remained in the city were those who had not been able to evacuate earlier on in the fighting. Now the Ice Warriors had cut off any retreat, making a simple trip across town much more dangerous than it should have been.

Spartus carried the plasma-based pistol he had used during his time fighting in the war over a year before. Behind him, his brother, Lasthan, followed and carried nothing but a pack full of supplies and personal effects. The same went for his ageing father, who trailed along behind the younger pair, silent and downbeat. He had not wanted to leave, even with the place the way it was, torn apart by war and gradually being abandoned.

The three of them stuck close to the buildings, much of which were damaged in some way, keeping to the shadows as they moved for the town's eastern edge. The further they went, the closer the sounds of fighting became. High above, fighter craft of varying designs, ranging from human, Draconian, Sycorax and Ice Warrior, duked it out. Energy weapons fire and missiles lit up the sky, and occasionally a fighter would explode into a ball of flame, or come crashing back down to the surface. For all intents and purposes, Archov Prime was a backwater, it was simply pure misfortune that had turned it into the site of a vast battle.

Spartus motioned his brother and father through the empty shell of a ruined building. Somewhere further, he could hear the throbbing pulse of sonic weapons fired, followed by shouts and roars. A human fighter craft shot overhead, its engines filling the air with a deafening roar, fire trailing from one wing. It hit a large townhouse a few blocks away, the _thump_ of the collision followed by a roar that made the sound of the engines seem quiet in comparison. The ground shook underfoot and flames erupted up from what remained of the townhouse, chunks of debris raining down all around. Spartus grabbed his father's arm, helping him to steady himself as the shaking stopped and the smell of burning fuel filled the air.

"There's not too far to go now," Spartus said. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the sounds of the battle. As his father and brother moved on, he followed, getting ahead of them. He was the one with the gun, so it was only reasonable that he led from the front. After passing through the empty shell of the building, they entered a narrow, winding lane, one of many that were within the city limits. Two and three story homes, closely packed together, encroached on both sides. Some carried visible battle damage, with parts of walls missing and broken windows, while a fire blazed from a second floor window further down the street. After checking both ways, Spartus motioned his companions forward, and they crossed the lane into an even narrower alley. The space-port was much further ahead, and the more they travelled, the closer the sounds of battle became.

Eventually, they came upon a main street running along the outskirts of the town. Beyond was the space-port, surrounded by numerous Ice Warriors, who were exchanging fire with Federation forces (mostly human soldiers, Spartus noted). Energy weapons fire zipped through the air, and spot fires raged. The space-port itself was a vast, circular structure, the only one of its kind in the city. The last soldiers were pulling out, this much was apparent, and the Ice Warriors were advancing. From the look of it, there was little time left for anyone who intended to evacuate.

Spartus turned to his brother. Lasthan appeared nervous, understandable given the circumstances. His father wore his usually serious expression. He seemed dour, and as they stood in the shadows within the alley, his father spoke.

"Is this your plan?" He asked. "We're outnumbered. The enemy has the place surrounded. What do you suggest we do now?" He did not sound very confident about his son's approach to the situation.

"We'll take advantage of the confusion," Spartus said. He looked at his pistol, wondering if it would be adequate to kill an Ice Warrior. He was yet to find out, and there was really only one way to do so. "Just stick close. I've faced worse odds than this."

His father said nothing in reply. His expression told Spartus everything, in that his father had zero confidence in what his son intended to do. Still, he knew they had no choice. They were here, and there was no turning back. Their home was being destroyed, and if they intended to survive they would have to leave.

Spartus started into the rubble-strewn street. None of the Ice Warriors scattered ahead seemed to pay him any attention, and he made his way around one pile of rubble. Here, he saw an Ice Lord, complete with rounded helmet and cape, directing his troops into battle. As he motioned two of his soldiers ahead, he turned around, catching sight of Spartus standing amongst the rubble, gun in hand. With a shout, the Ice Lord raised his sonic gun, but Spartus fired well before he did. The first shot hit the Ice Lord in the chest, making him stumble, smoke wafting from a smouldering patch on his armour. He did not go down, and instead snarled in rage before going to raise his gun again. Spartus stood his ground and fired another two shots, one hitting the Ice Lord straight in the chest, and the second hitting him squarely in the front of the helmet.

The Ice Lord's visor exploded and he fell backwards, smoke wafting from the smouldering hole that had been left in place of his face. Rushing forwards, Spartus dived behind a fallen pylon as one of the Ice Warriors ahead swivelled around, his sonic gun pulsing. There was a ripple effect in the air nearby, and a low droning sound that cut out abruptly as part of the rubble pile near Spartus exploded into a shower of dust and concrete pieces. He glanced behind, watching as Lasthan and his father ducked into cover.

Spartus leaned around the pylon as he lay prone, firing a volley that hit the Ice Warrior squarely, sending him falling backwards with a number of holes burned through his armour. Within seconds, Spartus rose to his feet, rushing ahead and motioning to Lasthan and his father to follow. They neared the outer wall of the vast structure, coming upon a barricade that the mostly human defenders had erected some time earlier. A few dead troops were here, bodies bloodied and charred. A squad of Ice Warriors had gone into the building, and Spartus headed inside in their wake, entering a large lobby area with a set of motionless escalators further ahead. Fire was exchanged between the Federation troops and the Ice Warriors, the warbling of sonic weapons sounding out as the bulky green reptiles poured on the fire. The human defenders were making a fighting retreat, and would likely be off on the next transport in the next few minutes or so. Spartus had no intention of being stranded in this warzone.

He shot the nearest Ice Warrior in the back about four times, making certain that when it fell it did not get back up. The other three here were preoccupied with the Federation forces up the escalators. Energy weapon bolts zipped by, and part of the wall up near the barricade at the top of the escalators exploded when it was hit by a sonic pulse. Spartus rushed ahead, leaving his father and Lasthan several metres behind. They hung back in cover, wisely keeping their heads down.

Spartus came up behind an Ice Warrior, as it fired a sonic pulse at the Federation soldiers. It turned around as he approached, but it did not have time to react before he shot it point blank in the face. The front of its helmet exploded and blood and bits of brain matter splattered over his jacket. The dead Ice Warrior slumped onto the ground, and its two comrades-in-arms swivelled around to face the new threat. Spartus was quick on the trigger, firing a trio of energy bolts that took down the Ice Warrior at his left, before the other charged him, snarling in rage.

The bulk of the alien warrior hit him squarely and he felt himself pushed against the wall, the breath of the Ice Warrior upon his face. The bulky foe knocked the gun out of his hands before delivering a sharp blow to the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Suddenly and surprisingly, a familiar figure tackled the Ice Warrior from the side, sending him and the one who he had charged into the floor. Lasthan was upon the Ice Warrior, punching him senselessly, again and again, the force of his blows enough to crack the alien's visor. Spartus took a moment to catch his breath before he eyed his dropped pistol. He walked over and snatched it up, before putting a hand to his brother's shoulder.

"Move aside," he said. Lasthan looked up at him, his face contorted in anger, but he got the hint and climbed off of the dazed warrior. Without a second glance, Spartus aimed the gun squarely at the Ice Warrior's head and fired, splattering the contents of his skull against the metal tiled floor.

"We have armed locals," one of the human soldiers up ahead called. One of them came forwards, encased in bulky black armour, his face hidden behind a yellow visor. He motioned to Spartus.

"If you're here for the transport, you and your friends better hurry up," the soldier said. "We're moving out in about ten minutes."

"Understood." Spartus looked over to Lasthan. His brother was just catching his breath, but otherwise he was unscathed. As for his father, he had stopped nearby, regarding the carnage with a neutral expression.

"Is this what you were doing, when you left home?" His father asked. A rhetorical question, although he did not appear particularly glad by the bodies that surrounded them, or by his son's actions.

Spartus did not give him the courtesy of a reply. What would he say, really? The least he wanted was a 'thank you', but his father was unlikely going to give him one.

"You heard the human," Spartus said, glancing at his brother. "We need to leave." He started up the escalator, followed by Lasthan. His father fell into step last, and the human soldier took an extended look across the lobby.

The familiar warble of a sonic gun echoed through the air, and the front of the human's armour exploded into a shower of sparks and metal shards. He fell backwards, blood seeping out of the many cracks that had been sent across his armour suit. Someone up ahead shouted and Spartus turned around, watching as the Ice Warrior he had shot in the back multiple times had started back onto his feet, his sonic gun raised. The human soldier fell to the ground, dead, and the Ice Warrior shifted his attention to the three natives walking up the motionless escalator. Spartus had his gun raised, but even he had been caught by surprise. He watched as the Ice Warrior's sonic gun pulsed and his father caught the brunt of the shot in his chest, the odd ripple effect erupting from there as he shouted in pain and fell backwards. Blood poured out of his nose and ears, his insides pulverised within seconds by the brutal sonic waves.

Spartus emitted a howl of anger and despair, pushing his brother aside both for his own safety and because of his rage. He started firing his pistol again and again, pouring bolt after bolt of blue-white energy into the already wounded Ice Warrior. The alien twisted and convulsed with each impact, holes being blasted through its armour. It fell into a heap on the ground, but even though it had clearly met its end, Spartus kept shooting. The barrel of his gun became hot with the repeated firing, and a warning light began flashing on its side, but he did not care. He advanced upon the dead Ice Warrior and continued shooting, pouring fire into its carcass, reducing its armour to a melted, misshapen mess. The reptilian alien beneath was quickly reduced to a scorched, disfigured mass of flesh. All the while, Spartus shouted inarticulately.

It had not been the first time Spartus had relived this event in his dreams, and it was unlikely to be the last.


	25. Small Mercies

**Small Mercies**

"It looks like it's about cleared." The Doctor stood up from the rickety old chair he had been sitting in.

Spartus had drifted off to sleep during their wait in the cellar. From his spot on the floor, he woke up suddenly, the Doctor's voice enough to bring him out of his snoozing. He had been sitting against the wall at the back, and prior to his slumber he had been twirling about his combat knife. He looked up as the Doctor spoke, surprised to hear him sound so certain. Surely there was no real way to know? They were down here, in the musty old cellar, a flashlight the only source of illumination.

The Doctor went for the doors, and Spartus rose to his feet.

"You're not going to open those doors, are you?" Spartus asked.

"How else are we going to be certain?" The Doctor asked. He stopped before the doors, grabbing one edge of the foam insulation before pulling. He ripped it from the nails that had held it in place, exposing one gap at the edge. A light shower of dust followed it, and it was the colour of the dust that caught Spartus' attention. He walked over, sighting the blue-tinged powder.

"What's that?" He stopped a short distance from the Doctor, eyeing the powder that had fallen through the gap.

"The gas," the Doctor replied, seemingly unconcerned. He leaned forwards, running a finger along the gap, getting some of it on his fingertip. Spartus might have spoken against such a move, if he had had a chance, but the Doctor once again did not appear too worried. "It's inert. Harmless, I'd say."

"How can you be so sure?"

The Doctor frowned at him, before brushing away the powder.

"Why would the Sea Devils contaminate the land they want to reclaim?" The Doctor asked. "Gasrava himself told me the gas was intended to dissipate quickly. No use them polluting an entire region with something lethal to themselves, as well as humans. Now help me open this, would you, Sparty?"

Spartus sighed. He felt like protesting the Doctor's use of that nickname, but he knew it would do no good. The Doctor seemed the type that, if he set his mind on something, he was unlikely to stop or give it up, no matter what was said to him.

"Sure, Doc." Spartus smiled at him as the Doctor narrowed his eyes in reply. Spartus walked up alongside him and helped him to tear away the insulation padding that had been nailed across the doors. It took only a few minutes before it was all torn free, and the doors behind it wobbled. Spartus pushed them both open, a fall of the blue powder following the movement, and he did his best not to breathe any in as the countryside appeared before them. It was beginning to become light, and the sun was low on the horizon. The blue tinged powder seemed to cover most surfaces in a thin layer, including the truck he and the Doctor had arrived here in.

"Now what?" Spartus asked. The Doctor brushed past him as he went up the stairs, heading outside.

"We go to UNIT," the Doctor said. He was already making for the truck. Spartus took a moment to gather his bearings, ensuring that he had not left anything behind, before he followed after the Doctor. Looking around the rolling hills and plains, Spartus noted several dead birds of varying varieties scattered around the house. The gas had obviously outright killed them, which was probably a blessing, as mutant birds would have been a lot more troublesome.

The Doctor was already climbing into the driver's cabin of the truck. Spartus made his way inside the vehicle, sitting down next to him as the Doctor started the engine and shifted the truck into gear. He was driving this time, and Spartus was somewhat thankful for that, as the trip here had been uneven, to say the least.

"What's UNIT going to do?" Spartus asked. He was still not entirely sure what 'UNIT' was, save for some military organization. The Doctor appeared to consider his answer for a moment, his eyes focusing on the road ahead.

"Get help," the Doctor said. "There's a bunch of Sea Devils out there somewhere, and they're likely going after the power station further inland. We'll stop off at the UNIT outpost, and if there's no one there, we'll move on to the power station ourselves. I feel that we'd be better off alerting them to the Sea Devils, unless you fancy taking on a small army of lizard people by yourself?" He glanced at Spartus. Presumably the question was rhetorical in nature, not that this stopped Spartus from replying.

"I've faced worse odds."

"I'm sure." The Doctor did not sound entirely convinced. There was a pause, as they drove along the country roads. "I heard you muttering in your sleep. You sounded like you were dreaming. And they weren't pleasant dreams, from the way you were moving about."

Spartus did not say anything. The Doctor continued, his eyes on the road ahead.

"I've seen it before. I know what it's like, to see the things you've done play out again and again in your dreams. Whatever war you fought in, Spartus, it must have been a bad one. What year are you from?"

"Year?"

"Yes, the year. Or your equivalent."

Spartus knew the Doctor was trying to determine what war he had fought in. He did not know whether it would be best for him if the Doctor found out about the things he had done. Spartus played it safe, telling a partial truth at the very least.

"I stopped keeping track," Spartus replied. "I lived day-to-day, pay-to-pay. Sometimes I went weeks living on nothing but my wits. The war itself went on for a while, but I never stopped to think of just how long it had been going. I focused on my objectives and played the part of a good little soldier."

"Just a cog in the machine?"

"You could say that."

"You've got a lot more personality than a cog." The Doctor turned them onto the main road that went through town. The streets here were empty, and many surfaces were covered in the pale blue powder that had been left in the wake of the gas. In some places, Spartus saw, there were streaks of blood. As if people had dragged themselves off of the streets. Doors hung open on some houses, and several windows were broken. The townspeople were nowhere in sight. Spartus looked over to the Doctor, and he could see that he was thinking the same thing he was. Everybody here was dead, or worse. And the Sea Devils who had done this would pay for their crimes. He might have expected something more than basic revenge from the Doctor, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes as they passed through the barren streets.

It was a look that carried with it many, many years of experience. Mostly negative experiences, Spartus guessed, and behind it all was an anger that seemed to be boiling beneath the Time Lord's generally affable exterior. Many innocents had been killed and the Doctor was very much thinking that those responsible would need to be punished. That look in his eyes, the one that even Spartus found disturbing, seemed to fade after a moment, as if he realised the track his mind was on and corrected it. Instead, the Doctor returned to his usually stern gaze, his focus on the road ahead. Spartus, on the other hand, was half-expecting some unfortunate mutant to appear. None did, and he could only assume that the people here were all dead.

"How many people lived here?" He asked the Doctor.

"A few hundred, probably," the Doctor replied. He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, yet even this did not entirely hide the underlying anger. The man was not pleased, Spartus could see this much right away. "And if Field Marshall Karva has his way, a whole lot more are going to die."

"We'll have to kill him, you know."

The Doctor glanced in his direction then, his face a mask. It was as if he had dropped all emotion at that very moment, and he simply regarded Spartus with a neutral gaze. He did not say anything in response to Spartus's intended plan of action. Perhaps deep down, the Doctor knew it would be the only way? He was perhaps too arrogant to admit it. That, or his mind was working in overdrive to come up with some kind of alternate plan, another way to deal with the Sea Devils that would prevent more loss of life. Spartus did not see one, and the Doctor likely did not either.

They kept on driving along. The gas had been deposited in key locations, from the look of it, and much of the surrounding countryside bore no evidence that the gas had been deployed. There were a number of dead birds scattered about, some on the road ahead, and the Doctor took the care to drive around their small carcasses, some of which still twitched.

"They targeted the town," Spartus said. His eyes went up to the overcast morning sky. He sighted one of the Sea Devil drones buzzing around high above, likely serving as their eye in the sky. Were the Sea Devils watching them as they drove along? Even if that were the case, would they even know who was in the truck? To them, they might have been nothing more than two human survivors making their way out of a scene of carnage. Wishful thinking, Spartus thought. The Sea Devils might even be readying an ambush at this very moment.

"You think the UNIT outpost will be unharmed?" Spartus asked. The Doctor gave a light shrug.

"We'll see soon enough," he said.

* * *

They came to the UNIT outpost some twenty minutes later. It was an old inn, overgrown with weeds and with flaking paint and cracked brickwork in places. It was no surprise to see the blue powder covering many surfaces outside, giving the whole place an oddly contrasting look, the blue standing out starkly against the muted tones of the surrounding countryside. There were a few cars parked out front, and the Doctor brought the truck to a halt next to an open-top Land Rover. He was out of the truck in a matter of seconds, striding for the entrance while Spartus was left fiddling with his seatbelt for a moment. Finally opening his side's door, he hopped out into the cold air, his boots sinking slightly into the muddy ground.

He followed the Doctor into the old inn, and his path took him into a large room of sorts, some kind of dining area by the look of it. UNIT had since converted it into their command centre for the region, with tables and chairs pushed aside and one large table set in the centre where computers and radio equipment had been set up. A technician was slumped in his chair, his body covered in blood and his features visibly misshapen, as if the flesh under his skin had been rearranging itself. The Doctor walked up to the dead technician, and he gestured to the back of the man's head. Spartus saw the single bullet wound there, and the exit wound had left the dead man's face a ragged, fleshy mess.

"What happened here?" He asked. It was a stupid question. The Doctor looked around, his eyes going to the weapons rack at one wall. Some of the rifles were visibly missing. Blood was smeared in places on the floor.

"How many were here, Doctor?" Spartus walked over to what he assumed was the leader's chair, over at a desk in front of a large map of the region. Certain areas had been marked with red, and one of them, he noted, was the fortress.

"Only a handful. They were little more than a surveillance team." The Doctor walked up to a door at the end of the room. He pushed it open, and was forced to take a step back as another partially mutated corpse fell onto the floor before him, having been leaning against the door. A number of empty bullet casings were scattered about the floor. The Doctor turned around and went to the phone at the desk, picking it up. He dialled a number, waiting for the line to be answered, while Spartus wandered back out into the hall.

"Hello? Geneva?" The Doctor no longer sounded patient. "This is the President of Earth. Yes, that's right, it's me." There was a pause, and the Doctor audibly sighed into the receiver. "Look, do I have to spell it out for you? This is the _Doctor_. You do know about me, yes?" Another pause followed as whoever was on the other end spoke. "No, no, not 'Doctor' anything. Just _the_ Doctor. The genuine article. I'm at Captain Proctor's surveillance operation in Scotland and I think you ought to know that everybody here is dead. Also, I think you should know that there are Sea Devils on their way to the experimental energy research station further inland. I suggest you have the place evacuated…"

"Not everyone's dead, Doctor." A woman's voice came from the hall. Spartus rounded the doorway and found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol, faced with a woman who was looking worse for wear. Parts of her clothing were shredded, and her skin was rough and scaly. Her eyes were large and yellow, and whatever hair she might have had had fallen off. She vaguely resembled one of the Sea Devils, albeit smaller in stature. She limped on an awkward leg, and Spartus could see some kind of bony protrusion there, much like those that had sprouted from Gasrava when he had been affected by the gas. Blood had been smeared in her wake. With one scaly, clawed hand, she leaned against the nearby wall.

Spartus stepped aside for her, as she walked into the operations room. The Doctor turned to face her, eyes widening.

"Abigail?" He said, recognition on his face. He put the phone down, leaving whoever was on the other end hanging.

"You know her?" Spartus asked.

"I'm not…feeling too crash-hot nowadays." Abigail stumbled against the nearest table, the pistol falling from her grip. The Doctor rushed over to her, easing her into a chair.

"What's happened to her?" Spartus walked over. _Another stupid question_. He could not take his eyes off of the unfortunate woman, and he could tell that she was in tremendous pain. Nonetheless, she did not cry out, and kept a straight face despite what she could feel.

"The gas," the Doctor stated. "It's not going to kill everyone it affects. Some people will have a greater resistance to it. Abigail here must be one of them."

"So, is she turning into one of them? A Sea Devil?"

"Barely." The Doctor glanced at Spartus. "She's becoming something more primitive. I'm surprised she hasn't gone mad from the change yet."

Abigail seemed semi-conscious, and she motioned in the direction of the dead technician.

"My handiwork," she said. "Best to put them out of their misery, don't you think?" Her voice was raspy, as if her vocal chords were struggling to form the words. She coughed, and blood dribbled out of her mouth, causing her to gag before she finally cleared it from her throat. The Doctor's expression was grim.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Spartus asked. The Doctor shook his head slowly. It should have been apparent that Abigail was beyond all help. Nonetheless, the Doctor leaned over her, putting a hand to her shoulder as he gave his best reassuring smile.

"What happened to Captain Proctor?" The Doctor asked.

"She managed to get out," Abigail replied. Her uneven yellow eyes looked up at him. "I don't know if she survived outside, but she probably did, knowing her." She reached out an arm, and suddenly convulsed in her chair, emitting a pained yelp as a number of the bony spikes erupted out of the flesh of her left forearm. Blood seeped out in their wake, and she clutched at the affected arm tightly, gritting her teeth.

The Doctor took a step back, watching as Abigail recovered from the sudden burst of pain. It was clear that there was little he could do for her. Strangely, Abigail reached for her gun, which had fallen onto the table behind her. She grabbed it in one hand, holding it out to the Doctor.

"Go on, Doc," she said. "Put me out of my misery."

The Doctor glared at the gun, and for a moment he seemed to consider taking it. However, he must have changed his mind quickly, as he shook his head slowly.

"I can't do that for you, Abigail," he said slowly. "I may be able to help you. There's medical equipment in the TARDIS…"

"Everyone in UNIT knows how much you lie," Abigail interrupted. She laughed then, as if this fact amused her. "Don't try and paint the situation as better than it actually is. I wasn't born yesterday."

The Doctor took a step away from her. She lowered the gun, and she looked down at it, as if considering doing the deed herself.

"My mother…always used to tell me…" She spoke slowly, her voice barely audible. Spartus stood nearby, watching her, and watching the Doctor in turn. The Doctor wanted to help, that was apparent, but it was clear that he could not bring himself to shoot her. He knew that it was not because he had gone soft, in fact it was likely the opposite. Spartus knew the look on his face. It was one he had often seen on himself, when looking into the mirror. It was the face of a man who had seen far too much in too short a time. Killing Abigail might have been a mercy, given her current state, but it was still murder. Or assisted suicide, in this case.

"My mother would tell me that God has no tolerance for suicide," Abigail continued. "Anyone who does that deed goes straight down into the 'fiery pits of damnation', as she used to say... She was always a bit like that, my mother." She paused, if only to cough, more blood trickling from her mouth. "I never used to take her too seriously. But now…" She looked at the gun, flexing the fingers on her empty left hand. "I can't do it myself. Not with that on my mind."

Spartus stepped forwards then. He put out his hand, and Abigail looked up at him. For a moment he thought he detected a look of surprise on her face, but it gave way to a quick acceptance. She held the gun up to him, and he took it in one hand. A standard projectile thrower, likely typical for this era in Earth history. More than adequate to kill someone, of course.

"Spartus, what are you doing?" The Doctor's voice was edged with a building anger. Yet, behind it, Spartus thought he could hear something more than that. As if the Doctor knew what was to be done was necessary.

"Doing what you can't," Spartus replied. He thumbed the hammer on the back end of the gun. Abigail remained seated, looking straight into his eyes. The Doctor took a step forwards, but Abigail held up one hand, signalling to him to stop.

"Don't interfere," she said simply. "Please, don't."

The Doctor remained where he was. He regarded the pair with narrowed eyes, but he did not say anything. Why would he? What was there to say, when someone wanted to die and there was someone else willing to do it for them?

"Get it over with," Abigail said. She turned to look back up at Spartus. The alien took a moment to consider his next action, and knew then that it was for the best. Why should someone be forced to live their life as some sort of genetic abomination, when there was an easier and simpler option available to them?

Spartus pulled the trigger. The gunshot was loud in the confines of the inn, and it reverberated off of the surrounding walls, leaving Spartus' ears ringing for a moment. Abigail slumped in her chair, blood splattered against the table behind her. He tossed aside the smoking gun and turned to the Doctor, who was glaring at him with an intense gaze.

"It had to be done," Spartus said.

"Do you get to decide that, now?" The Doctor spoke in a voice that sounded as if it would explode into rage at any moment. Spartus shook his head, and then gestured to where Abigail sat, motionless.

"No, Doctor. She decided it. The least we could have done was oblige her."

"Killing must come easy for you, Spartus."

"Only when it needs to be done."

The Doctor turned around, heading for the phone again. His demeanour had changed, and he walked with an even greater sense of purpose. What had just happened had simply steeled his resolve.

"Someone's got to do the dirty work," Spartus added, looking at the Doctor. "Someone's got to be man enough to carry out the deed itself. Abigail was in no state to continue living. You knew that, even I knew it."

The Doctor did not reply. He picked up the phone again, his finger hovering over the numerical pad. He seemed to be considering his next move, and was likely going to call the UNIT big wigs again, wherever they were.

"You giving me the silent treatment now?"

"No, Spartus, I'm not." The Doctor turned to him, frowning. "There's always another way."

"And sometimes, every way open to you involves doing things you don't like."

The Doctor became quickly engrossed in his own thoughts now, and he was simply torn over what had just occurred. Even now, he was mulling over his decision to take Spartus on board with him. There was something about the alien warrior that rubbed him the wrong way, and it was not simply his actions here, today. It was something else. An uneasy vibe that seemed to emanate from the alien soldier, and was all the more apparent here and now. Perhaps it was because, deep down, the Doctor knew he had a point? And no matter how much he thought about it, no matter how hard he tried to find a counter to it, there was still no denying the fact that Abigail had wanted to die. Had he been a coward to refuse her, when even he could see that there was no helping her? Spartus had committed a necessary act, and this is what angered the Doctor the most. Not the act itself, but the sheer _necessity_ of it.

"I don't think UNIT's going to get here in time," the Doctor said. He put the phone down. If these UNIT people had any ounce of intelligence, they would have listened to his first call and scrambled some of their forces to head for Scotland. "We need to get to that power station ourselves, before the Sea Devils do."

"Are you certain that's where they're headed?"

"No. But it's the most likely. They need power for their base. That way they can wake up the several hundred of their own they've got sleeping down there. Not only that, but if they get their communications systems working, they can contact other shelters. Perhaps even reactivate them remotely. They could start raising their own all across the world."

"And there'll be a war?"

"Of course." The Doctor knew full well that the Sea Devil reawakening would not be peaceful. Of all the reptile people varieties, and they were forced to go against the most warlike of them all. "Karva could very well be the highest ranking Sea Devil left on Earth. They'll follow him, no matter what he wants them to do. He's already got his own little cult of personality. If he has his way, there'll be a war, no matter how badly his people might be outnumbered."

"Sounds pretty foolish to me."

"Isn't that what war is, really? Fools sending soldiers to fight for nothing and die for nothing. Karva will start a conflict if only to spite humanity. He'll go out of his way to kill as many human beings as he possibly can, all because he can't bear the thought that they're the ones in charge of the planet now. I want to find a peaceful resolution, but with Karva in the equation that will be tricky."

"Like I said, we kill the big guy. Problem solved."

"Or you make it worse, because his followers will see him as a martyr." The Doctor began to pace about the room now as he spoke, becoming caught up in his words and thoughts. It was an aspect of his character that Spartus found strange. This was likely a man who talked to himself frequently, likely at full volume, even if there was no one around to hear him. "How do you prevent someone from dying as a martyr?"

"You discredit them. Humiliate them."

"Good answer." The Doctor turned to face him, pointing a finger at him and smiling broadly. "You're smarter than you look, Sparty."

"Yeah, thanks." Spartus did not sound too enthused. He had no idea how they were going to stop Karva from being a martyr. In fact, it sounded like a foolhardy venture. "I think we should just focus on stopping them from getting to that power station first."

"Yes, of course." The Doctor started for the door. "Come on. We've got a bit of a drive ahead of us."


	26. Complex

**Complex**

The Machara Advanced Energy Research Station was nestled amongst some hills, a considerable distance from the coastline. It was a large blot of silvery and grey buildings amongst the dreary muted greens and browns of the surrounding countryside, a compound comprised of two large cooling towers and numerous smokestacks, with countless pipes running throughout. Compared to other power plants, it was small and lightly staffed, being a site of experimentation. As a result, it was not being used as a power plant for the public. A recent venture, the construction of the power station had been completed about three years previously, and the research within had been going on since then. The research and experiments mainly focused on searching for alternative sources of energy, particularly those of a more sophisticated sort, ranging from fusion reactors to experiments with potentially 'cleaner' sources of nuclear power. At the moment, there was a very different sort of power being worked upon, and the plant itself was under heavy guard. Such a place needed to be, as it made a welcome target for terrorists.

Within the main building, where the bulk of the work took place, Doctor Alfred Cressman, a middle-aged man of average build with thinning, greying hair, was seated before a bank of computers. A handful of technicians milled about the large circular room, checking over equipment and marking items off on their clipboards. In the centre was a large transparent glass column, and within that was a much smaller, glass container. It was thick, sturdy glass that comprised the container, and inside glowed a pinpoint of brilliant white light. Antimatter, in its purest form. The most volatile source of energy known to science (outside of those of a theoretical nature).

It had not been Cressman's idea to bring it here. That had been down to the bureaucrats in office, who had invested hundreds of millions into the facility and felt that they should get their money's worth. So far, Cressman had seen his research into a cleaner source of fissionable material stalled, in favour of this attempt to take advantage of the potential of antimatter. It was too dangerous for his liking, and its potential explosive power made a nuclear warhead look like a firecracker in comparison. Nonetheless, he had his orders, and he had a job to keep and himself to support. So far, he had been working long hours, and his most recent coffee-induced energy boost was beginning to wear thin. Reaching over to the desk at his left, he picked up a plastic container of caffeine pills and pulled off the lid. He mulled over them for a moment before popping a couple into his mouth.

"Can we hurry things up, please?" He said aloud, as he scoffed the pills down. "I'd like to get the particle accelerator test done in the hour, that way we can all leave a bit earlier."

Most of the technicians did not pay him much attention. They were too focused on their work, leaving Cressman to mull in his own thoughts. He watched the white light in the central column, the way it seemed to dance about within its vacuum-tight seal. He wondered what the public might think, if they knew that something this dangerous was within their borders. Sure, not many people lived around here, but it did make him wonder. No one was really sure how powerful an antimatter detonation would be, as no one had actually tried making one. Some theorised there was enough explosive potential to crack the planet in half. And here he was, about ten metres away from it, protected by a couple sheets of specially constructed glass but little else. Cables snaked across the floor from the central column, and the white light fixtures above cast the whole room in a dry, sterile illumination. Typical lab environment, he thought, practically lifeless. Was he just getting old and bitter? Probably, and his divorce had certainly compounded that.

The phone on the desk to his left started ringing. He reached over and picked it up, before the repeating noise could grate on his nerves too badly. Putting it to his ear, he heard the familiar voice of the facility's administrator come through the line. Doctor Pearson was the one in charge of the facility's operations, and he answered to the government bureaucrats directly. It was strange for him to be calling from his office at the other side of the complex, so Cressman could only assume that whatever it was, it was important.

"Doctor Cressman, I've just received an interesting phone call." The Administrator did not sound entirely convinced by whatever it was he had heard. Cressman listened, intrigued. "Someone from UNIT just called, telling us to evacuate the facility. I'm not entirely sure what to make of it."

"UNIT?" Cressman had heard the name before. Some sort of military group, one that was more on the secretive side.

"They had the right codes and everything," the Administrator continued. "I'd suggest you start packing things up over there. We can't just ignore this."

"You don't sound convinced…"

"I'm not convinced because they didn't actually tell me what was going on. They simply rattled off a few codes and told me to evacuate. Which is why I'm issuing the order now, just to be on the safe side."

"It'll take a while to prep the core for transport…"

"Then I suggest you get on with it, Doctor Cressman. I wouldn't want to be here when something bad actually does happen." He hung up the phone then, leaving Cressman to wonder exactly what was going on. Still, he was not one to question a reason to leave early. He rose to his feet and looked about at the technicians and other researchers, most of whom were too busy in their own work to really pay him any attention.

"All right everybody," he announced, causing all heads to turn towards him. "I've just received word that we have to pack up and leave. An evacuation has been called and we can't stay here." He motioned to two of the technicians nearby. "You two, prep the core for transport. You know the procedures."

He rubbed his eyes, yawning absently. Somewhere behind him, he heard a door open. Within moments a security guard stopped to his right, leaning in close and speaking to him quietly.

"Doctor Cressman," the guard said, somewhat uneasily. The scientist turned to the guard, eyeing him curiously. "You need to be aware that a truck has just driven through the main gate."

"What do you mean?" It took the information a moment to register. A truck, through the main gate? It sounded like they were under attack. Either that, or someone was a really reckless driver.

"I've brought the security staff closer around the main building, but you're going to have to hurry things up."

"I can't hurry them any more than normal," Cressman protested. This was all happening so fast. Did the Administrator not understand that they simply could not pack up and carry away the antimatter core? It would take them at least twenty minutes to remove it from its place safely, after shutting down any power that might have been running to and from it. Not only that, but they would need to purge as many of the computer systems as possible. The whole process could take nearly an hour. Normally, if an evacuation was to be called, they would get a bit more notice. Besides, nothing ever happened out here. Nothing was supposed to, anyway. Just what, of any interest, happened in the Scottish countryside?

An alarm began sounding then, likely a result of the sudden intrusion. The security guard moved to the doors, heading outside, leaving Cressman and the other researchers in the lurch. If they were being attacked, then they would simply have to rely on the security people here to hold off the intruders. Reinforcements would come, in the form of the police and Army, so surely there was nothing to worry about?

* * *

Spartus had not been keen on the Doctor's idea to tackle the situation head-on, and in this case, by sending the truck through the main gate of the power complex. The guards there had scattered as soon as they saw that the truck was not going to stop anytime soon. Spartus held on tight, and had wisely put on his seatbelt, while he glanced at the Doctor and could see nothing but focused determination etched onto his face.

The impact with the gate had not been too bad, sending a violent lurch through the whole truck, causing both occupants to rattle in their seats. The gate came off of its hinges, scraping past the left side of the truck, as the Doctor sent them blazing through into the heart of the complex. Spartus wondered if he was going to stop anytime soon, as from the look of it he was taking them straight to the biggest building in the complex, right up ahead, beyond a maze of pipes and power conduits. Two cooling towers were far off to the left, standing tall over everything else, shadowing much of the complex itself.

"You're going pretty fast," Spartus commented. The Doctor did not reply. Instead, he shifted up a gear and sent them even faster towards the central building. By this point, alarms started to sound from all around, and red lights began to flash about the complex. As they closed in on the central building, the Doctor hit the brakes suddenly, sending them screeching to a halt, spinning the wheel hand-over-hand like a madman. They left a plume of white smoke behind them, black tire tracks in their wake. The truck came to a sudden halt and Spartus felt himself lurch up in his seat, the seatbelt keeping him in place. His hearts pounding, he looked to the Doctor, who appeared unfazed. Without any further word, the Doctor opened the door and stepped outside.

Spartus took a moment to recover before he followed the Doctor out into the cold air. They were several metres from a set of double doors leading into a large, brick building. A red light flashed over it and a pair of guards were running their way.

The Doctor put his hands up as the guards approached. Both carried pistols, and they pointed them at the two intruders. Spartus realised that the guards could see quite clearly that he was not human, and both regarded him with surprised looks on their faces. The Doctor smiled at them as he lowered his hands slowly.

"I need to see the one in charge," the Doctor replied. He nodded in the direction of the main building. "I take it he's in there?" Neither guard said anything. Both were staring at Spartus, clearly unsure as to how they should react. "Don't worry about him, he's an alien. I am too, but you wouldn't see that by looking at me, would you?"

The Doctor turned around, leaving the two guards where they were. He glanced at Spartus, and started for the door.

"Come on, they're not going to shoot us," he said. He sounded fairly confident of this fact. Spartus, on the other hand, did not want to take any chances. He contemplated taking out his gun, but decided against it, if only to avoid aggravating the situation.

"Wait," one of the guards said, hopelessly. The Doctor ignored him and pushed open the double doors, with Spartus following closely behind. The guards followed them into the grey corridor beyond. The Doctor seemed to know where he was going, so Spartus followed him, and in turn the guards kept up with them. None of them seemed sure of what to make of the pair, and so they simply kept watch on them as they strode down the corridor.

"Where are we going?" Spartus asked him, his voice low as he walked alongside the Doctor.

"I'm heading for the middle," the Doctor replied, his voice just as quiet. "I think that's where we'll find something important. Just follow the signs." He gestured to a sign on the wall ahead, at a T-junction. It pointed to a few different sections of interest, among them the 'Cafeteria' and 'Restroom'. However, there was one part that was certainly the most interesting: 'Central Test Chamber – Level 3 Clearance Only'. This was off to the right somewhere, so the Doctor and Spartus turned right at the junction and kept on their way.

"As long as we act like we know where we're going, there shouldn't be any problems," the Doctor said. Spartus did not entirely believe this, but nonetheless he simply nodded his head and kept following the Doctor. Walking through the front door of a secure facility was not the plan of approach he would have taken, although it was obvious that the Doctor thought on a very different wavelength than he did. Spartus had normally favoured a more 'guns blazing' approach, and if that was not viable or if he did not need to kill anyone, he would have probably found a back or side entrance and snuck in. This brazen approach was just that, and it was the mark of a man who was very confident in himself, perhaps to the point of arrogance.

The pair were met with another guard, who had his gun out and waved it at them in an attempt to threaten them. Behind him was a walk-through metal detector near a desk, currently unoccupied. Beyond that was an automatic door with a keypad lock, with a 'Restricted Area' sign stamped on the door.

"What on earth is this?" The guard asked, stunned. "Who are you two?" His gaze went to Spartus, and his eyes visibly widened. "Just what the hell is _he?_ "

"Like I told your bumbling friends behind us, he's an alien." The Doctor rattled this off as if it were hardly worth noting. The two guards who had been following them stopped a short distance behind, weapons trained on the odd pair. "As for why we're here, we need to talk to whoever's in charge. I'm going to make a guess and say that there's something important behind those doors up ahead?"

"He's an alien?" The guard, oddly enough, sounded unconvinced. "What kind of a joke is this?"

"I assure you, it's not a joke." The Doctor took a step forward, but the guard raised his gun threateningly. The Doctor turned to Spartus, and shook his head. "Why is it, that whenever someone waves a gun around their intelligence drops to such a level that they won't stop asking idiotic questions?"

Spartus was about to voice his disagreement, but his attention went to the door further up ahead as it slid open suddenly. A middle-aged man in a white lab-coat emerged, his eyes tired and his overall demeanour one of boredom. Was this the one in charge? He looked important enough.

"What's going on out here?" The scientist asked. The Doctor stepped forwards, brushing past the startled guard, before holding out his hand. The scientist took it half-heartedly, and they shook briefly.

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said. "I think I'll get further with you, since you're actually a scientist and not some moronic guard. My friend and I…"

"Friend?" The scientist broke off the handshake and looked to Spartus. He frowned, as if he did not quite believe his eyes. However, he did not appear as outright shocked as the guards had. Instead, a sort of curious look went over his face. This was another reason why Spartus wanted to get off of Earth: he would not be able to go anywhere without drawing attention to himself, and people would be shooting him strange looks wherever he went. Or shooting guns at him, which was even more troublesome.

"Don't mind him, he's an alien. A bit on the thick side, but he has his uses." The Doctor brought the scientist's attention back towards him. Spartus felt like once again voicing his protest. The Doctor was unlikely to even pay him attention, now that his concentration was set firmly on the scientist. Instead, Spartus kept his mouth shut, crossing his arms as he stood on the sideline.

"You're a doctor?" The scientist rubbed his chin, frowning. "What kind of doctor?"

"I dabble here and there," the Doctor replied. He looked past him, to the door with the 'restricted' sign plastered on it. "I take it there's something really important behind that door?"

"I can't really say…"

"What did you say your name was?" The Doctor asked, despite the fact that the scientist was yet to identify himself.

"Doctor Albert Cressman…"

"Well, Doctor Cressman, perhaps you'd believe me if I told you that there are a number of very disgruntled fish people on their way here?" The Doctor brushed past him, heading for the door. He put on his sonic glasses, and after a moment of looking at the keypad lock whilst the glasses emitted a buzzing sound, the lock clicked open. Cressman started after him, hardly able to believe the audacity of this visitor. As for Spartus, he simply followed the pair, whilst a trio of guards followed him. The whole situation was a strange one, but he figured that this was to be expected with the Doctor involved. He seemed like a weirdness magnet.

"What? How did you do that? You can't go in there…" Cressman trailed off, emitting a sigh of resignation as it became apparent that the Doctor was not going to listen to him. Spartus followed the two into the large circular room beyond, mostly grey and white in tone, with banks of computers further ahead and numerous cables snaking along the floor. In the centre was a transparent glass case that was about two metres in height, set between two hulking machines of some sort, with one set in the floor and another going up into the ceiling above, where many more cables and conduits wound away from it. The Doctor stopped by the computers, surveying the large contraption with his sonic glasses over his eyes, likely taking all kinds of readings that splayed out across the heads-up display on the inside of the glasses.

"Antimatter," the Doctor said after a moment. He took the glasses off and stuffed them into a pocket on the front of his jacket. His head turned to Cressman, who had stopped nearby, one hand rubbing at his tired eyes. It was as if this intrusion was the absolute last thing he needed right now.

"You mentioned fish people?"

"Amphibious reptilian humanoids," the Doctor said. "Some call them 'Sea Devils'. A hostile force, and they're coming here." He nodded towards the antimatter core. "It should be obvious as to why."

"Is this why we're evacuating?"

"Ah, so someone out there got the message?" He nodded his head slowly. "Yes, I'd assume so." He paused for a moment, looking about at the technicians and other researchers, most of whom were watching him, although many of those had now set their gazes onto Spartus. "What's with all the funny looks? You didn't actually think that _we_ were the terrorists, did you? I mean, that whole thing with the gate, that was just an attention-getter. And it worked pretty well, didn't it?"

"This is all very hard to believe," Cressman said. "I mean, what do you mean 'amphibious reptilian humanoids'? Does such a thing even exist?"

"Yes, that should be apparent. They're coming here, that's why we've got to clear out. That means you're going to have to get that antimatter core well away from here." The Doctor turned to Cressman and the others, all of whom were looking at him with a mix of disbelief and sheer confusion. "All the non-essential people here have to leave. As for the rest, have we got respirator equipment?"

"Respirator equipment?"

"Gas masks. Anything to filter out toxins."

"We have some…"

"Good. We may need them. You see, the Sea Devils might deploy a very dangerous gas before they attack. It would only make sense, to kill as many people here before they roll into the premises. We may only have a matter of minutes."

Spartus could see that Cressman did not believe him, or at least not entirely. Even so, he did walk up to one of the computer terminals, where a microphone was located. He tapped a button, activating the PA system throughout the laboratory. His voice echoed throughout the main building and across the outside compound.

"This is Doctor Cressman," he said. "We have reason to believe that there will be an imminent terrorist attack. I need all non-essential personnel to evacuate immediately. Standard procedures are to be followed. This is not a drill." As this announcement sounded throughout the facility, Cressman turned to the Doctor, narrowing his eyes as if blaming him for the overall inconvenience.

"Is this entirely necessary?" Cressman asked. Already some of the technicians were filing out of the room, heading out of the facility.

"Of course it is," the Doctor said. "Now, where do you keep the respirator stuff? We're going to need it, preferably before we get gassed."

Cressman started for a door at the end of the laboratory, with the Doctor and Spartus following him. The door slid open as they approached, taking them into a maintenance tunnel that appeared to lead through the far edge of the main building, offering alternate ways into the major sections. After some distance, Cressman took them into a store room of sorts, where all manner of protective suits, both radioactive proof and chemical proof, were located. There were a number of respirators here, sophisticated models with connected air tanks. The Doctor took one of the masks, passing it to Spartus, before taking one for himself.

"You're going to need to pass these off to the remaining personnel," the Doctor said. A few security guards had come by, following the trio, and Cressman relayed the order to them. They began taking the masks down, heading out and carrying several of them each. The Doctor, Spartus and Cressman made their way back to the laboratory. The whole atmosphere had become a bit more frantic now, as the nature of the situation became more accepted. The evacuation was real, and so, in turn, that likely meant that the threat was real. Nonetheless, Cressman did not appear entirely convinced. Spartus, meanwhile, felt a little lost, although he could admire how the Doctor had taken command of the situation so quickly and effectively. That was a rare quality, and one that was probably helped by his sheer confidence.

In the laboratory, a few technicians had been at work disconnecting the antimatter core. So far they had shut off much of the power running to and from it, and now one of them was disassembling the thick glass case that surrounded it. Another one took the core in two gloved hands, one at each end, holding it tentatively as he slid it into a thick, metal cylinder complete with handles and warning stickers. With it slid into place, he closed the container, the latches ensuring that it would not fall out of place accidentally.

"I'm having a hard time accepting all this," Cressman said, as they re-entered the laboratory. "You can't expect me to believe that this facility is about to be attacked by fish people?"

"Do you believe my friend here is an alien?" The Doctor gestured to Spartus.

"Well…" Cressman paused, regarding the alien in question. "Maybe. He certainly looks the part."

"Do you believe _I'm_ an alien?"

"You don't resemble your friend there."

"Well, surely an open-minded scientist such as yourself could accept the fact that not only is my friend an alien, but I'm one too, and that this facility is under genuine threat. Maybe if we get a chance later on, I'll explain everything to you." The Doctor walked over to the technicians with the antimatter core. He grabbed a handle on the metal cylinder, hefting it up fairly easily. The antimatter weighed virtually nothing, it was the thick metal container that carried some actual weight.

"We're going to leave now," the Doctor said. "I suggest everyone does the same thing."

"You're just taking the core?" Cressman sounded aghast.

"Of course I'm taking the core. Why wouldn't I be? It's what they're after, I told you that. Don't be so thick-headed." The Doctor started for the door. Cressman watched him, his eyes wide with disbelief. There was a complete stranger walking out with a sample of the most volatile substance known to science, so it was no surprise that he disapproved. He appeared to disapprove of the whole situation. Spartus gave him a smile as he started for the door, leaving the scientist stunned and confused behind them.

As they neared the laboratory's door, they instead opened from the other side. A woman in military garb walked in, flanked by four soldiers carrying rifles. The Doctor stopped, and recognition flashed on his face as he laid eyes on her.

"Captain Proctor, I see you're alive and well." The Doctor put the container down. It sounded as if he had been expecting these people to appear.

"Your message got through to the right people, Doctor." The woman smiled at him. "Trust you to take the initiative. You know you're walking out with millions of dollars' worth of research, right?"

"Yes." The Doctor stated this succinctly, not at all concerned by the information. "I suppose you'll want to commandeer it now. Probably can't trust this madman with it, can you?"

"We have vehicles waiting outside. A helicopter is moving in to rendezvous with us further north. Best that could be organized on short notice."

"And the Sea Devils?"

Spartus stepped forwards. Proctor turned to him and she visibly frowned. Again, yet another human who had not been expecting to see a blue-skinned alien today.

"Who's he?" Proctor asked.

"Spartus, meet Captain Proctor from UNIT." The Doctor turned to him, motioning towards the stern looking Captain. He then turned back to her. "That's Spartus. He's a friend. I suppose you were unaware that Captain Lockwood was keeping this particular extra-terrestrial in his cellar for fun?"

"Is he dangerous?" Proctor's eyes shifted to the holster at his waist, and the exotic alien firearm contained within.

"I'm only dangerous if you want me to be," Spartus said. Proctor's eyes met with his and there was a brief silence between them as they took each other in, almost weighing one another up as if they were preparing for a brawl. This woman certainly emitted an aura of authority, and her military training was likely telling her to consider Spartus a potential threat. To her, he was an unknown element, a wildcard, and he could turn on her at a moment's notice. If what the Doctor had told him of UNIT was any guess, then they would be the sort of people to shoot anything alien before trying to talk to it. Still, Spartus could not blame them. He was a 'guest' on this planet, after all.

"If you two are going to kiss, then I suggest you get on with it." The Doctor's voice broke the brief staring contest between them. Spartus looked over to him. The Doctor picked up the antimatter core and thrust it into Proctor's hands.

"There you go, Captain. Don't drop it."

Proctor handed it to one of the other soldiers.

"Take this back to the truck," she ordered. "Ensure it's properly secured." The soldier nodded in his understanding of the orders, taking the core and heading back outside.

"Where are the Sea Devils now?" The Doctor asked. "Do you know?"

"They have three land vehicles heading this way," Proctor said. "They've been following in the wake of their gas attacks. The village was wiped out, from what we've found, and the outpost was hit as well. I managed to get out in time, but not everyone was able to follow." She paused for a moment, perhaps thinking of the soldiers who had died there, even Abigail. Still, she was a leader, and she had likely been trained as to how to deal with losing people under her command. "Command was able to scramble some soldiers to help us out, but not many. There should be more on their way, but it could be hours before they arrive."

"Air support?"

"One helicopter is currently on its way, and that'll be meeting us at the rendezvous further north. It'll transport the core out of the country, well out of the reach of any of the Sea Devils."

"That's it?" The Doctor sounded concerned. It was likely concern more for the lives of the soldiers they had, rather than for the lack of numbers. "The Sea Devils would likely outnumber you. I think their leader has been awakening as many as he can on their limited power reserves."

"Then we simply have to keep ahead of them," Proctor said. She turned around, followed by the soldiers, and started for the doors. She gestured for the Doctor to follow. "Come on, Doctor. We could use the extra help."

The Doctor glanced at Spartus.

"So, do we go with them?" Spartus asked.

"Of course we do. Knowing them, they'll probably stuff something up. We'll need to be there to make sure nothing like that happens, and so we can clean up the mess when it _does_ happen. Consider it a learning experience for you, Sparty. That for some situations, a more delicate hand is required."

Spartus nodded in acknowledgement. The Doctor might have seen him as a bit of a brute, but it came with the territory. Of course he needed to be a brute, if he was going to survive against the Sea Devils and Lockwood. And from the look of the situation, they would likely be running into more trouble later down the road. While the Doctor might have preferred a defter hand and considerably less violence, Spartus knew that sometimes, when things got really rough as they had been in the last few days, then one might need to resort to more outright force to resolve a situation. He felt that, with the Doctor, he was a good fit: The Doctor could go about solving problems his way, but if things got violent, then Spartus would be there to get his hands dirty. And Heaven knew that his hands were very dirty indeed.


	27. Convoy

**Convoy**

Karva had been monitoring the surveillance feeds from the drones, utilising the computers within the land transport. He sat at the front end of the passenger section, eyes on a monitor in front of him, while his warriors sat quietly in their seats. According to the feeds from the drones, the humans had started evacuating the power station. It was to be expected, especially with that Doctor involved, as he had obviously got some kind of warning through to them. Not that it mattered much, as the humans could only get so far in the short time before the land transports neared the station, and the human evacuees. Even now, the energy scans were telling him exactly where the antimatter core was, and at this moment it was being loaded onto a truck for transport. That was no concern of his, and he quickly mapped a path to the convoy of human vehicles that would put them on an intercept.

Captain Lockwood was tied up and seated on the floor, back against the wall nearby. He was sweating profusely in the cramped, humid confines of the transport. Karva looked over to him, amused by the human's discomfort and the angered look that crossed his face.

"You should be grateful, ape," Karva said, looking down at him.

"Grateful?" The human, Lockwood, practically spat the word. "Grateful for what, you cold-blooded bastard?"

"Grateful that I am allowing you to live, after the crimes you have committed." Karva ignored the human's insult; he was not going to allow himself to be affected by mere words, certainly no words from any ape. "You will witness our reclamation of our planet. We were here first, after all."

"First? The slime that crawled out of the sea was here 'first'." Lockwood sounded positively furious, and his face had turned a shade of red that Karva found amusing. "Your people had their time. You had your civilisation. It came and went, like everything else. You have no right to reclaim this planet. You're relics, specimens to be found, collected and catalogued."

"We are no mere 'specimens'." Karva could still feel the pain from the way he had been sliced open. Gasrava had managed to patch him up adequately before his untimely death, but it had not been enough to remove the scars or end the pain. "We had a civilisation grander than your own. Shining cities that gleamed in the sun. We did not pollute and lay waste to the world like your kind does."

"And before then? Before you had these fancy bloody cities and the pollution-free energy sources. What did you do?" Lockwood looked up at him, his eyes narrowed. Karva realised that he had been lead to this question, as it was apparent that the human knew full well what his response would be.

"That is irrelevant."

"You probably had little bloody tribes of fish people," Lockwood continued, mockingly. "Throwing spears about and scalping each other. You were as primitive as we used to be, and you won't admit it. You don't think us lowly humans won't progress? Our technology is almost on par with your own. Your 'greatness' and 'purity' is nothing but delusion. You, Karva, you goggle-eyed muppet, are _delusional_. You know what that means, don't you?" Lockwood frowned. Karva realised he was frowning too.

The human's words had struck a chord, one he had not expected to be struck. He found himself shifting out of his seat as the land transport zoomed along, and he leaned forwards somewhat to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. As the Sea Devil warriors in the passenger compartment watched, Karva crudely backhanded the ape, causing his head to snap to one side. Blood flew out of his mouth, as did a couple of teeth. The satisfaction was fleeting, and Karva found himself feeling angrier instead. Lockwood looked back up at him, blood trickling out of his mouth. A cut had opened just above his upper lip. His eyes watered from the pain, yet he did not utter a single sound.

Lockwood may have been a coward, but when cornered his claws came out. Karva returned to his seat, leaving the human to wallow in his own thoughts as he returned his attention to the surveillance feeds from the drones. According to the map of the region, there was a path they could take which would put them well ahead of the human vehicles. From there, it would be simple enough to prepare an ambush. Karva slid open the hatchway to his left, looking into the driver's compartment.

"Full speed, pilot," he ordered. "Pass the message to the other vehicles. I am keying the path into the navigation systems now."

The pilot nodded his head in acknowledgment. Karva closed the hatchway and tapped out a path to take on the screens before him. The humans would stand little chance, he thought, and through a combined attack it should be a simple matter of grabbing the antimatter core and returning to their facility. With a power source like that, they would be able to repower the entire shelter and wake up every one of their sleeping brethren. In turn, they could contact other shelters and coordinate a proper strike against humanity. The whole plan was coming together now, and Karva gave a slight smile to himself. This was what it meant, to be in command. To have your plans come together, and to feel the anticipation one felt before a decisive victory.

* * *

Spartus was seated in the passenger seat of the truck. The Doctor drove along, keeping the truck with the rest of the UNIT convoy. On the back of the truck was the TARDIS, now draped in a tarpaulin so as to not appear so unusual. Proctor lead from a Jeep in the front, and the convoy of about seven vehicles trundled along the country backroads as it headed for a set of hills further in the distance. Presumably, the helicopter was to meet them there. Spartus had been given a map by one of the soldiers, and he had it splayed across the dashboard in front of him. He could see the path they would take, but he did note that it took them through some open country.

"Do you think we'll be safe?" Spartus asked. He glanced over at the Doctor, who's eyes were focused on the road ahead. The middle vehicle in the convoy, an armoured truck of some variety, carried the antimatter core. There were soldiers in most of the vehicles, with more than a few large mounted machine guns on the Land Rovers and trucks to ward off any potential hostiles. Something told him it would not be enough to dissuade the Sea Devils from launching an attack.

"We're never going to be safe," the Doctor said, matter-of-factly.

"Not one for reassurance, are you?"

"Since when did someone like you need reassurance?" He glanced at Spartus, one brow slightly raised.

"I don't _need_ anything."

"Except a bath," the Doctor replied. "You have quite a pungent odour about you, Sparty."

Spartus sighed. Of all the things they could be talking about, and the Doctor was most concerned with what he smelled like.

"That's what happens when you live in a cellar for six months," Spartus countered. "I didn't get too many opportunities to bathe myself."

"Obviously."

There was a pause. The convoy made its way around a bend, going upon a highway that had mostly exposed moorland on either side. Grass swayed in the breeze that wafted across, and somewhere high above one of the Sea Devil drones watched them. It was there, Spartus could certainly see it, and he knew that the others likely had as well. They were being followed, and the fastest they could go was not very fast at all.

"We can't move any faster?" Spartus folded the map up, stowing it into the glove compartment.

"How fast would you want to travel, with a volatile power core in your vehicle?" The Doctor asked.

Spartus nodded his head. It was a fair point, but he doubted they would get very far at this rate. If the Sea Devils caught up with them, there would be trouble.

"What's the plan then? After we deliver the power core?"

The Doctor gave this some brief thought. He clearly did not know himself, and he gave a light shrug of the shoulders in response.

"I'll work something out," he said, confidently. "I always do."

"We'll have to take care of the Sea Devils. Your military friends might already have some ideas."

"I'm sure they do." The Doctor's tone went sour, and it appeared that he knew from experience what Spartus was referring to. "I can tell you were a soldier once, Sparty. You seem to solve your problems by shooting at them before trying anything else.

"Hasn't failed me yet."

"I'm sure it hasn't." The Doctor did not sound convinced. "You know, Spartus, some years ago I was on Earth. Stranded, even."

"Stranded?"

"It was a long time ago, for me. Time travel does that." The convoy seemed to slow down somewhat, as they turned onto a narrow gravel road. "I was helping UNIT back then. A sort of love-hate relationship, really. A few decades back for Earth, but centuries for myself. There was a reptile people shelter near a nuclear plant where the reptiles there woke up and started abducting workers who intruded too close to their shelter. I was sent to investigate."

"So, this sort of thing with the Sea Devils, it's happened before?"

"Oh, yes. It certainly has." The Doctor's focus was on the road, but his mind was certainly elsewhere. "It probably won't end, not until one species has wiped the other out. Point is, Sparty, I was close to getting through to the reptile people at that shelter. Very close, so close that I was able to get a sort of truce set up. This was after the Earth reptiles there tried to wipe out humanity with a virus, but that was down to the actions of one extremist. In the end, it was UNIT, and a man I trusted, who ended up destroying the shelter. Any reptile people still asleep down there were sealed away for good, and a bunch of those awake were killed." The Doctor recited this with a sour tone, as if the betrayal still stung, after all the centuries for him since it had happened, in his own personal timeline. "I want to avoid that happening again. There's a possibility for peaceful coexistence here. It's simply those like Karva who would threaten any chance of that happening."

"You think UNIT will blow up this shelter as well?"

"I _know_ they'll do it. They won't listen to me, not nowadays. They've changed since I first knew them. I don't want it to happen again. There's been too much death the last twenty-four hours anyway."

"You really think there's a possibility for peaceful coexistence?" Spartus was sceptical. He knew humans, he had much experience with them, both in the future and in the present. And he was from the future, after all, and from what he could tell there were no reptile people living among humanity. "I'm from the future, Doctor. I don't think I've even heard of the 'Sea Devils'."

"The timeline's always in a state of flux," the Doctor replied. "You're from the future as it was when you left it. If we do something here, make a change, the timeline will reshape it. You won't be directly affected, as by lifting you out of your timeline I've essentially made you at least partially immune from such effects. And you're from so far ahead that things likely changed by the time your century came along. Still, it's worth a try, here and now. I'm very much a man of the moment, with the occasional long-term plan. Still, last time I planned that far ahead…" He trailed off, as if becoming lost in his own thoughts. "There's always a chance," he added, after a pause. "Always a chance to alter history, to _make_ history and to make it better. That's what we can do here today."

"What about the TARDIS? The engines?"

"The antimatter core we have could help," the Doctor said. "But really, I think the old girl's just overdue for her five hundred-year service. I should be able to work out what's wrong with her, I'll just need a bit of time."

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"You don't sound convinced." The Doctor glanced at him, brows raised. Spartus shrugged and looked ahead, watching the countryside go by as the convoy moved along.

"Like I said, Doctor, I don't think there'll be any coexistence here," Spartus said. "Not anytime soon. The humans look at me funny enough as it is."

"And if you walked among them enough, they'd see you as 'normal'," the Doctor replied. "That's all you need to fix most things. Time. Sometimes lots of it. And you often get a lot of it, if you travel through it."

"I can imagine."

* * *

The Sea Devil land transports were moving into position, blazing across the countryside using their advanced engines. They left a cloud of dust in their wake, only slowing down as they reached the determined intercept point. The surrounding countryside was mainly rolling moorland, with small stout hills here and there. Down a left turn from the highway was a small Scottish village, typical for its type, with a smattering of quaint little houses and a large, old stone church with a tower that made for the highest point in the area.

The vehicles came to a halt at the base of a hill that ran by the highway. Their rear ramps opened and the Sea Devil warriors within filed out, spreading themselves across the hill and onto the other side of the highway. Two of them carried a large portable energy weapon between them, which they mounted amongst the long grass and set its sights upon the highway.

Karva was among the last out, moving to the top of the hill as a cold breeze blew in from the west, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and seaweed. How would he have loved to have been swimming amongst the waves now. He had been out of the water for a long time, even longer if one took into account the time he had spent asleep. Still, there would be time for that later. He had a mission to carry out, one that would be for the benefit of his people and would provide the thrill of battle a warrior like him needed.

As he stood upon the hill, taking in the cold Scottish air, he heard footsteps behind him. To his left came Commander Havartiss. Interestingly enough, he could sense the younger warrior's trepidation.

"Field Marshall?" Havartiss asked, getting his attention. Karva turned to him and smiled. He had always liked Havartiss, despite his occasionally reckless nature. This made his uncertainty now all the more unusual.

"Commander," Karva greeted. "Is there something on your mind?"

"We have all the warriors out on this mission," Havartiss said. "If we were to take heavy losses…"

"But we won't," Karva interrupted. "We have the element of surprise and superior weaponry at our disposal."

"And the gas?"

"These humans will be prepared for that eventuality. Given that they are a moving target, it would be difficult to deposit the gas accurately. And we certainly cannot do it now, without affecting ourselves. We will have to take their power core through force. Surely this is all apparent?"

"I felt that I needed some reassurance directly from you, Field Marshall." Havartiss turned to look down the highway. The convoy was not in sight yet, but it would be soon enough, as soon as it rounded the hill some distance down the road. It seemed like a simple enough attack, and one that gave them the tactical advantage. They could hem the human soldiers into a kill-zone and pick them off with ease. They knew their every move, thanks to the drones that were keeping watch on things from high above. Havartiss nodded slowly, as if approving of the plan, but there was still a look of uncertainty to him, evident in his demeanour. Was the young warrior having second thoughts?

"The things that we've done, are they really worth it?" Havartiss delivered the question in a sombre tone. Karva was surprised to hear this coming from him.

"What kind of talk is that, Commander?" Karva stepped towards him, looking straight into his eyes. "You are a warrior. Talk like that is unbecoming. We do what we have to do to reclaim our world. Surely you want to secure a future for our people?"

Havartiss did not reply. Instead, he looked past Karva, his eyes going towards what was further down the road.

"The humans are coming," he said, changing the subject.

Karva followed his gaze. Indeed, the human military vehicles were closing in. Karva signalled to the others to go low, and the warriors that scattered around, at both sides of the road, moved into prone positions amongst the long grass. "I suggest you get to your position, Commander. We will continue this discussion after we have the power core."

Karva walked away then. He pulled out his side-arm, a standard model with a disc-shaped energy projector. A few of his warriors had laid explosive charges in the road, and they finished up burying them under the gravel before rushing into cover. Karva crouched amongst the knee-high grass, feeling the cold breeze waft over him, causing the grass to sway and rustle. The sun was well up into the sky now, obscured partially by bulky grey clouds. Would it rain? Perhaps later on, he figured. It was a far cry from the heat and humidity he remembered, from when his people ruled the Earth. The climate was one thing he likely would not be able to change, at least not for a long time.

The human military vehicles neared. There were about seven of them, the one in the middle of the convoy being the one to most certainly carry the power core. It was a large six-wheeled truck, a dark green in colour, lacking any identifying markings. There were three other trucks, two of which were full of soldiers, and another at the rear that carried something on its trailer under a tarpaulin. The other vehicles were smaller, four-wheeled affairs, fitted with mounted guns. An intimidating arsenal, for any other enemy force. Karva and his Sea Devils were not so easily perturbed.

As the first of the vehicles rolled over the explosives, Karva stood up, his side-arm raised. He looked to the Sea Devils closest to him, and he yelled at the top of his voice.

"Open fire!" He barked. "Show them no mercy!"

Promptly, all hell broke loose. The explosives detonated and the Land Rover at the front was replaced by a massive gout of flame that erupted from the Earth, the concussive wave of air enough to make even Karva stumble slightly. Windows shattered on the other vehicles and those behind the lead vehicle came to a halt, as expected. The drivers had little choice, now that the way ahead was blocked by a smouldering crater.

The other Sea Devils opened fire, searing bolts of energy zipping through the air. The smell of burning fuel hit Karva's nostrils. Fire raged at a few points on the grassy edges of the road. People were shouting, and weapons thundered. The whole scene was one that sent a thrill through the Field Marshall. This was what it meant to be a warrior. This, to Karva, was completely and utterly _glorious_.


	28. Fire on the Moorland

**Fire on the Moorland**

When the forward Land Rover went up in flames, the other vehicles braked hard. Some swerved to avoid each other, and the entire convoy came to an abrupt halt. The Doctor hit the brakes in the truck, causing both him and Spartus to lurch forwards somewhat. Immediately, Spartus could see that something had gone wrong, and he watched with a mix of fascination and dread as the Land Rover leading the pack exploded. Weapons fire came from both sides then, bolts of white hot energy raining down upon the convoy. Windows shattered and soldiers scrambled out of their vehicles, haphazardly forming a defensive line around the disrupted convoy. A few bolts of energy struck Spartus' side door, and parts of the inner upholstery blackened as the energy came close to burning straight through.

He did not wait for the Doctor's instructions. Instead, he pushed open the door and rushed out into the cold air, pulling his pistol from the holster at his waist. Several soldiers were scattered about, rifles raised, firing shots into the surrounding grass. One of them nearest to Spartus was struck down in the chest, falling backwards against the truck with a smouldering hole burned through his flak vest. Behind him, the Doctor had emerged from the truck, keeping low as weapons fire erupted from the grass and from the weapons the soldiers wielded. Somewhere up ahead was Captain Proctor, back against a parked truck as she barked orders to the soldiers. There was some sort of heavy weapon firing from one side, rapidly laying down a hail of energy bolts that tore through one of the parked Land Rovers. The soldier manning the gun there was cut in half, blood splattering against the windshield while his top half landed in the mud. The machine gun tilted upwards, a severed arm still gripping the trigger. Spartus moved for it purposefully, his strides taking him to it quickly. A few bolts of energy singed by closely, but otherwise he was up on the Land Rover in moments. Pulling off the dismembered arm, he threw it aside with barely a second thought and grabbed the trigger. Pointing the weapon to the edge of the road, he could make out the shapes of Sea Devils crouched in the grass. The mounted gun of their own was among them, and its operators had shifted their aim to one of the trucks. Their weapon pounded relentlessly, shooting holes into the truck and cutting down a few soldiers in the process.

Spartus pulled the trigger and the thirty calibre gun thundered loudly and rapidly, tearing up the grass before the mounted gun. The two Sea Devils there went down quickly, their armour doing little to stop the assault. The mounted gun itself was torn asunder by the high calibre rounds, rendering it useless, sparks flying. Spartus might have felt satisfaction at any other point, but by now he had fallen into the strange calmness that he often acquired during battle, where his mind was focused solely on what was happening and how best to survive it. He had taken out a major threat, that was all that mattered.

"Spartus!" The Doctor's voice caught his attention. He crouched and turned around, watching as the Doctor raced up to the vehicle. "The core. They're going to go after the core." He motioned to the truck that had been at the centre of the convoy. Spartus could see that was where the main force of soldiers had concentrated, but several of them lay dead on the gravel road. Some of the Sea Devils had started to advance down onto the road itself, moving with a sense of purpose with their weapons raised. Some carried the disc-shaped side-arms that appeared to be a favourite of theirs, others held longer rifle-type weapons with cylindrical barrels that glowed with energy. Most were fully outfitted in their bulky black armour, complete with helmets that fitted snugly around their heads and covered over their yellowish eyes with large black visors.

They encroached upon the central truck. Spartus did not hesitate to open fire, pouring a hail of bullets upon the approaching Sea Devils. Three of them went down, twitching and convulsing with each impact, small red eruptions breaking through their armour as it failed to stop the powerful rounds. More shots came from behind, and the Doctor hit the dirt as one of the Sea Devils swept energy rifle fire across the Land Rover. Spartus hissed as one of the searing bolts clipped his left arm, causing him to stumble with his right hand still clenched around the machine gun. Gritting his teeth, his whole arm seemingly on fire, he rose back to his feet and pointed the gun at the perpetrator. Before the Sea Devil could shoot any further, Spartus had let fly with another barrage of rounds, tearing the Sea Devil to ribbons before the machine gun finally clicked onto an empty chamber.

He had no time to stuff around and reload. He jumped off of the Land Rover, taking a look at the burn that had been made at his left forearm. It was nothing serious, but his favourite jacket had been ruined.

The Doctor had since rushed for the main truck, where he frantically climbed upon the rear. Inside, he hurriedly took the antimatter core out of the large metal case it had been placed within. The plan was obvious, really; they had to take the core far away from here. Spartus knew the kind of power something like that would contain, and letting it fall into the hands of the Sea Devils would be a mistake.

Proctor was still barking orders to her soldiers. Most were still defending the main truck, even as the rest of the Sea Devils encroached. Spartus raised his gravity pistol and fired a shot, blowing away one of the charging Sea Devils. One he recognized appeared, charging ahead with a gun in one hand and some kind of curved, bladed weapon in the other. The soldiers turned to face him, but Karva gunned the first few down quickly, his reaction time almost uncanny. He was at the truck in moments, his blade slicing one soldier across the chest, sending him falling and screaming into the dirt. Proctor turned to face him, firing a shot from her pistol that pinged off of the Field Marshall's armour. He turned to her, and she stood her ground as he advanced upon her with his blade. Another shot sent that blade flying from his grip, although this did nothing to stop him as he closed the distance between them and grabbed Proctor by the throat. He lifted her up off of her feet, his grip tightening, making her gasp and choke.

Spartus stepped forwards, gun raised. The gravity pistol would take both down, and he did not want that. Instead, he fired a shot into the ground near Karva's feet, causing a large eruption of dirt as the Sea Devil Field Marshall was sent flying. He dropped Proctor as he went, and she landed in a heap on the gravel, gasping for breath.

Someone grabbed Spartus from behind, one arm going over his neck in a tight choke-hold. He dropped his pistol as he grabbed the arm in question, attempting to force it off of him. The Sea Devil who had grabbed him was not going to give up so easily and a struggle ensued, one that took the pair several steps away from the truck. Spartus elbowed the Sea Devil who was attempting to choke him, before finally planting a foot on one of its own, followed by a punch straight into the face. This one was not wearing a helmet, and its grip upon him slackened from the force of the blow. Stepping away from it, he turned to face it.

The female, Livakresh, was just recovering from his strike. She went to raise her gun and Spartus dived to the ground as she fired, sending the bolt of energy through the space he had just been occupying. Hitting the gravel, he somersaulted, one hand landing on the rifle of a fallen soldier. He grabbed it as he came up, swivelling about in a matter of seconds. Livakresh had her aim shifted towards him, but Spartus was quicker on the trigger. The rifle cracked and part of the armour at the Sea Devil's chest broke under the impact. He fired again and again, sending three further rounds into the Sea Devil. She fell backwards, her eyes widening somewhat, before landing on the gravel where she became motionless, blood seeping down her chest.

* * *

The Doctor had the antimatter core tucked under one arm. The truck was surrounded, this much was apparent, and even now there was one particular Sea Devil on his way inside that he would have preferred to avoid. Nonetheless, someone had to take the core as far away from here as possible, and by the look of it he may be the only one able to do it. Even if he could just bring it into the TARDIS, it would be safe there and no amount of Sea Devil firepower would be able to break through.

"Doctor!" Karva's voice sounded from outside. The Sea Devil Field Marshall appeared at the rear of the truck. Human blood was splattered across his front. His eyes were wide with fury and a hint of megalomania, a look the Doctor had seen many times before in many other people.

"Your people are dying, Karva," the Doctor barked. "Was this all worth it?"

Karva stopped at the end of the armoured truck, watching the Doctor through narrowed eyes.

"It will be, when every last human is wiped off of this Earth."

With the antimatter core under one arm, the Doctor looked to his right. A soldier had fallen here, and his rifle stood leaning against the wall. With one hand, the Doctor took up the weapon. He braced it against his shoulder, aiming it straight at the Field Marshall.

"I can't allow you to do that."

"Past the negotiating stage, Doctor?" Karva started to walk towards him, his eyes blazing with anger. "I would rather leave this Earth a smoking crater than allow the humans to retain their dominion over it." Karva was dangerous, perhaps the most dangerous reptile person he had met so far. Driven by madness and ambition, he had made his intentions clear on more than one occasion. There would be no reasoning here. And by now, he had gone over the deep end. Any plan of using the power source to wake up his fellow Sea Devils had seemingly been placed onto the back burner. Instead, he had other intentions in mind.

"Doctor, get back!" Spartus' voice caused both of them to turn to look his way, as he appeared at the rear of the armoured truck. This was apparently enough of a distraction for Karva to grab the rifle the Doctor held, promptly starting a grappling war. The antimatter core fell from the Doctor's grasp, clunking upon the metal floor. Both the Doctor and Karva stared into each other's eyes as they fought for control of the weapon, before Karva promptly head-butted the Time Lord. The Doctor stumbled backwards, somewhat dazed, as Karva turned around and opened fire. Spartus crouched and rolled, grunting as one of the shots hit him in the side. Without any further delay, Karva dropped the rifle and picked up the antimatter core. Leaving the Doctor, he rushed outside and began to run.

* * *

Spartus had taken another wound, this time to his lower left side. It hurt a great deal, but he did not feel any worse, so presumably the bullet had missed anything important. He had come to a stop lying on his back on the gravel, his gaze going straight up to the sky above. After a moment where he collected his thoughts, he rose to his feet, watching as Karva went running up the side of the road. The Field Marshall had the antimatter core in his hands, and he rushed along quickly, no doubt with a very specific purpose in mind.

Bodies, both human and Sea Devil, littered the area. The scent of burning flesh hit Spartus' nostrils, a result of the energy weaponry that had been used. He moved for the armoured truck as the Doctor stumbled out, a cut on his forehead but otherwise he appeared to be unscathed.

"I'm going after Karva," Spartus said. He barely offered the Doctor a second glance as he ran by. He made sure to collect his dropped gravity pistol on the way. From there, he made his way onto the plains and up the rise at the side of the road. From there, he saw Karva up ahead. The Sea Devil was moving too quickly to reliably shoot him, so Spartus started running after him. For a moment, Spartus thought that Karva would head for his land vehicles. Instead, he raced for the town.

Spartus was only somewhat aware that the Doctor had started running after him, but nonetheless he pressed on. The village's outer wall was up ahead, a rundown stone one overgrown with grass and creepers, likely dating back a few centuries. Karva was making his way for the church beyond it, a large old stone structure with a tall tower and stained glass windows.

As Karva came to the front steps, the front wooden double doors opened and a man in priest's garb emerged. He managed Karva one shocked glance, before Karva raised his side-arm and fired. The priest fell down the steps, a smoking hole blown through his chest. Spartus followed the Field Marshall into the church, which at this particular hour was mostly empty. Rows of wooden pews were at either side, and the central aisle was floored with a lush red carpet. Karva was headed straight down it, and he paused halfway to turn around and fire a few shots back at Spartus. This caused him to duck as the energy bolts hit the doorway near him. Wooden splinters exploded forth, and he somersaulted forwards.

Karva was up near the altar now. He stopped by a stature of Christ on the cross, and here the Sea Devil looked about himself intently. His eyes were wide with fury and madness. As Spartus rose back to his feet, he levelled his gravity pistol at the Field Marshall, striding down the central aisle towards him. Karva took another volley of shots at him, and Spartus dived behind a row of wooden seats as they zipped through the air near him. A few clipped the top of the wooden seat ahead of him, causing yet more splinters of wood to rain upon him.

"Spartus." The Doctor's voice caught his attention. Spartus turned around, looking to the doorway. The Doctor was there, leaning around it. "He could bust open the core. If that antimatter hits anything made of matter, there'll be an explosion."

"I know how volatile that stuff is," Spartus said. An antimatter detonation would far surpass any nuclear warhead. All of Scotland could be left a smouldering crater, and there was no telling what the long-term effects of an antimatter detonation could be. "I've seen it in action." He added this somewhat morosely, and the Doctor frowned but otherwise did not reply.

Karva had moved to the right of the altar, disappearing through a doorway. Spartus was up on his feet within seconds, and he turned around and started after the Field Marshall. Karva had started up a flight of steps, heading up the tower, apparently intent on cornering himself. This was likely his plan, Spartus realised, and with the antimatter core in his hands it became apparent what he really intended to do.

Spartus entered the stairwell that lead up the church tower. Karva was about halfway up. The Field Marshall looked over the edge and took a shot down at Spartus. He ducked as part of the wall near him exploded, sending a plume of brick-dust flying into his face. Pressing on, Spartus started up the stairs, striding up them a few at a time. His hearts pounded, and he wondered what Karva had in store for him at the top. Surely the Sea Devil was cornered? How much more could he do, other than the unthinkable with the antimatter core?

The top part of the tower was somewhat open to the elements, and an old rusted bell was up here, dangling in place. Karva bumped it, causing the bell to ring out, the noise almost deafening within the confines of the tower. Spartus emerged onto the top level, with only about a metre's space between him and Karva. The Field Marshall had the antimatter core tucked under one arm and he pointed his side-arm at Spartus in a threatening manner. He did not fire, not with Spartus pointing his gravity pistol his way. It was a stand-off, and Karva's eyes blazed with a fury that Spartus had not seen burn quite so brightly until now.

"Why do you fight for the apes?" Karva spat. "You owe them nothing."

"Maybe." Spartus gave the statement some brief thought. The Field Marshall was likely trying to distract him. "Maybe not. But what you're planning is genocide."

"They deserve nothing less."

"I tried genocide myself once, didn't take to it well." Spartus could feel the wind buffeting him up here. The floorboards creaked as he edged around, keeping Karva in his sights. He could not risk taking a shot, in fear of damaging the core. He knew full well that would be disastrous. Somehow he had to get the core off of Karva, and with that done he could better deal with the unruly Sea Devil. "If stopping you from blowing a hole in the countryside is my one good deed for the day, then I'll be satisfied."

Karva hissed at him then. He put his gun against the side of the core's container. Spartus lunged forwards, grappling the Field Marshall's gun-wielding hand away. The weapon fired, the shot flying wide, heading far out over the village. Twisting the Field Marshall's hand into an awkward angle, he caused the gun to fall from his grip. Spartus' free hand then went to the antimatter core, and Karva fought for its control ferociously, snarling in Spartus' face. His gravity pistol fell from his grasp, clattering onto the floor. With both hands free, Spartus pushed Karva against the old bell, causing it to sound out again, the noise reverberating loudly through his ears. With a sharp right hook, Spartus knocked Karva's head back against the bell. Finally, the antimatter core fell from the Field Marshall's grip. It hit the floor with a _clunk_ , before rolling towards the stairwell. There, the Doctor appeared, snatching up the core confidently before it could start bouncing down the stairs.

Spartus forced Karva to the edge of the tower, before finally the Field Marshall threw him off of him. Spartus hit the bell, steadying himself. Karva was at the edge, and his eyes were wide with fury. The Sea Devil was clearly mad. Perhaps he had always been that way, and waking up in this new world had finally tipped him over the edge? Whatever the case, Spartus knew what he had to do. The Doctor was watching, no doubt about to intervene, but Spartus had no desire to let the Field Marshall get off easy.

"You are a fool," Karva spat. "You fight for the apes—"

Karva did not get to finish. Spartus charged him, tackling him head-on. It was enough to send the Field Marshall that crucial few steps backward, before he fell and toppled over the edge. Spartus let go of him, steadying himself against a wooden column at the corner as Karva disappeared over the tower's edge. The Sea Devil started to shout, but he barely had a chance to utter a noise as his landed in the cemetery below, his spine crunching and practically breaking in half as he landed on a gravestone. Spartus moved to the edge, looking down at the Field Marshall, who twitched where he lay, sprawled with his legs splayed over one side of the gravestone and the rest of him over the other side. Blood seeped out of his nose and mouth, and his arms seemed to move slightly, as if driven by the last vestiges of life that flowed through his nervous system.

The Doctor moved up alongside Spartus, looking down at the former's handiwork. He had a grim expression on his face, his eyebrows shifting close together. He was probably thinking of all the missed opportunities here, to at least try and reason with the Field Marshall. Something that had been tried and had failed.

"Something on your mind, Doctor?" Spartus asked. He took a moment to catch his breath, as the Doctor turned to face him.

"There should have been another way." He did not say anything further than that. Quietly, he turned around and started back down the stairs. Spartus, after a moment, followed after him. He would be glad to leave this place and time behind, once the Doctor got his TARDIS in working order again.

* * *

Most of the Sea Devils had been killed during the battle, as had most of the UNIT soldiers. As Spartus and the Doctor returned to where the convoy was located, they found that reinforcements had arrived by helicopter, along with a medical team who were carrying away the wounded on stretchers. The Doctor carried with him the antimatter core, something he intended to hang on to for a little while yet.

Proctor was still alive. This surprised the Doctor, although he figured he should have expected the one in charge to survive. She had taken a few hits, mostly grazing shots, although now she stood at one end of what remained of the convoy, flanked by a few soldiers as she regarded the surviving Sea Devils. Or _Sea Devil_ , as there was only one here, one the Doctor recognized immediately. He had taken a hit to one shoulder and had a gash above his left eye, but otherwise he was in better shape than his comrades.

Lying near Havartiss was Livakresh, who was riddled with bullet holes yet still visibly breathing. The Doctor stopped for a moment, regarding the scene before him. Surely something could be done here, after all the death that had occurred?

"Hold onto this for me, Sparty." He turned to his alien companion and handed him the antimatter core. Spartus took it with a frown, unsure of what the Doctor was planning. Slowly, the Time Lord walked up behind Proctor, tapping her on the shoulder.

"Captain," he said. Proctor swivelled around. She was dirty, and her expression was one of annoyance.

"Doctor? Glad to see you're still alive." She did not look particularly glad, despite her words.

"What do you plan to do with Commander Havartiss here?" The Doctor asked. The Sea Devil in question looked his way upon mention of his name.

"Prisoner of war, Doctor," Proctor said.

"I suppose you're going to lock him up, then? Experiment on him?"

Proctor narrowed her eyes.

"What does it matter, Doctor?"

The Doctor, in a lightning fast movement, stepped forwards and snatched up the pistol from Proctor's waist holster. He turned it on her right then and there, taking a step back as to put her in its sights. Proctor looked at him, confused for a moment, before realization dawned on her face. In fact, she almost looked as if she had been _expecting_ something like this.

"You really are a nutcase, aren't you?"

"People call me names all the time." The Doctor noticed that the soldiers nearby had turned to him. Some had gone to raise their guns, but Proctor signalled to them with one hand to remain as they were. "Not all of them mean anything, of course."

"What do you want?"

"You're going to let the Commander go," the Doctor said. His voice became stern, commanding even. "Simple, really. Even your military brain should be able to handle it."

Proctor smirked. The situation apparently amused her.

"And if I refuse?"

"I shoot you."

"You wouldn't. And if you did, you'd be shot down. Several times over."

"A risk I'm willing to take." The Doctor did not budge. Proctor must have seen he meant it, as she stepped aside.

"Fine, Doctor. Do what you want." She sighed then, but she did not take any further action. The Doctor lowered the gun and approached Havartiss.

The Commander watched him as he neared, his face unreadable. The Doctor moved around him, undoing the rope that had been used to bind his hands together. Leaning forwards, he put his head near the Sea Devil's own, and he spoke quietly.

"I suggest you start running," he said. "Run as far from here as you can. Leave Scotland and never return." Simple enough instructions. Havartiss nodded his head slowly. He rose to his feet and walked over to where Livakresh lay. Hefting her up, he carried her in both arms. The Doctor might have told him to leave her be, seeing how badly she had been hurt. It was unlikely she would live for much longer. However, he kept his mouth shut, preferring to give the Sea Devil Commander some semblance of hope rather than dash such hopes completely.

Havartiss took one last look at the Doctor before he turned around and started to walk away. Despite the weight he carried, he moved quickly, disappearing over the raised slope at the edge of the road. The Doctor looked around at the soldiers, making sure none gave chase. None did, content to follow his wishes, and the Doctor walked over to Proctor. He handed her the gun, and she took it whilst managing a slight frown.

"Are you sure about this, Doctor?" She asked, no doubt referring to Commander Havartiss.

"Yes, I am." The Doctor left it at that. There was no need to add anything further. Proctor slid her gun back into the holster at her waist.

"What next?" Spartus was the one to ask this, stepping forwards as he did. The Doctor walked up to him and took the antimatter core from his grip.

"We leave," he said.

"The TARDIS…"

"I'll get it working. As for this…" He held up the antimatter core, taking a closer look at the single glowing particle that darted about inside. He then handed it to Proctor. She took it gingerly, as if worried it might explode in her grasp. "Look after it. I suggest you hold off on the antimatter research for, say, about fifty more years or so." The Doctor gave a wry smile then. "Trust me on that."

"Right. Whatever you say, Doctor." Proctor haphazardly passed it off to one of the nearby soldiers. As they were marching away, the Doctor turned and started for the flatbed truck where the TARDIS had been loaded upon, currently covered in a tarpaulin that had since taken a few energy bolts. The TARDIS itself remained in one piece. Spartus followed him as he pulled the tarpaulin away, revealing the police box, lying on its side.

"I'll see what I can do about the engine trouble," the Doctor said. He turned to Spartus. Despite the upbeat tone to his voice, he looked glum, and it was apparent that the day's events had affected him. The Doctor reached into his jacket and pulled out the key to the TARDIS doors. As he went to place it into the lock, a familiar voice sounded from behind him. He froze, as did Spartus, and both turned to look at the source.

"Doctor, you wily bastard." Lockwood was looking a bit worse for wear. There was a cut at one cheek and his clothes and face were dirty, with blotches of mud. One shoulder of his safari shirt was burnt, as if it had been grazed by a bolt of energy. In one hand, he clasped a revolver, and he had it pointed straight at the Doctor. "Off you go, leaving the mess for everyone else to clean up. Isn't that right? Isn't that how you work, Doctor?" Lockwood sounded furious. His face was contorted into a look of disgust.

"Lockwood," the Doctor said simply. Proctor and her soldiers had walked to the opposite end of the convoy, so none were aware of the arrival of Lockwood. This left the Doctor in a situation more awkward than he would have liked.

"You think you can just leave? After everything that happened because of you?" Lockwood chuckled. "You're more arrogant than I thought. Well, I'll be doing the whole of time and space a favour, I suspect. You cause damage wherever you go. Had I known what you were when we first met I would have shot you then and there."

Spartus stepped forwards then, and Lockwood shifted his aim to point the gun at him.

"As for you, I had high hopes." Lockwood practically spat the words. "My prize specimen. A shame that it has to come to this." He shifted his aim back to the Doctor. "Goodbye, Doctor. I'll be sure to put one between your eyes, just so you don't get any ideas about coming back to life." Lockwood thumbed the hammer on his revolver. The Doctor remained still, glaring at him. There was little else he could do, really. Lunging forwards would have incited Lockwood to fire sooner, and trying to run away would only get him a bullet in the back.

"Damn you, Lockwood." Spartus was the one to say this, stepping in front of the Doctor as the old man fired. Spartus stumbled backwards, landing against the Doctor. Almost immediately the soldiers were upon them, and Lockwood, startled at the intrusion, turned to face the three armed men who came running towards them. He seemed to know that he had acted rashly, yet even in those last moments of life, his face carried the anger he felt, instead of the fear one would expect, or the realisation that he was about to die.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Lockwood raised his gun at the approaching soldiers. All three of them opened fire, peppering him with rifle rounds, causing him to spin about, to and fro as blood spurted out of every fresh hole that was shot through him. His entire torso became riddled with bleeding holes in a matter of seconds. He fell backwards and his carcass finally landed on the gravel. For a moment, the Doctor was stunned at the sudden turn of events. He reached out and put his arms around Spartus, feeling the alien soldier relax in his grasp. This was not how he had wanted to end things. Not like this, not after making a promise to Spartus. What he had done had been so foolish…

"Spartus," the Doctor said, easing the wounded warrior against the truck. "What…why? Why did you have to do that?"

Spartus looked at him and smiled weakly, as if the question amused him. Blood trickled down his front.

"My second good deed for the day," he said.


	29. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"I can see why you'd be such a hot commodity."

Spartus flexed the muscles of his right arm. It still ached, the whole thing was sore really, but it was an improvement since yesterday. He had taken a bullet for the Doctor after all, and had he been human his injuries might have been more severe. There was plenty to like about not being human, and his body's fast regenerative capabilities ensured that only the worst of injuries would have a detrimental effect upon him. Of course, he could still feel pain, and taking a bullet had hurt _a lot_. It had paid off though, since the Doctor was still alive and the TARDIS appeared to be in some kind of working order.

The Doctor moved around the control console, tapping buttons and adjusting dials. The central column glowed but it did not rise and fall. Rather, they remained in the year 2027, in orbit around the Earth as the Doctor ran some diagnostics. He had mentioned something about a 'time-storm' and how the 'space-time oscillator' had become dislodged. He had spent a few hours trying to fix the damage, and he had succeeded. Presumably he had not bothered to try earlier, since his curiosity as to where he had landed had made him head out, leaving his TARDIS where it had broken down. During the whole time, the Doctor had been somewhat morose, and even now, despite the energy he had on display, he carried a grim look about him.

"What now?" Spartus asked. A pertinent question. The Doctor stopped by the console, turning to look his way.

"I'll take you home."

"I don't have a home anymore, Doctor," Spartus replied. He spoke as if it were common knowledge, and he had long since become accustomed to the fact that he had no home and no family to go back to.

The Doctor picked up the Time Ring from where it sat upon the console. He examined it briefly, before turning back to Spartus.

"We could find out where this came from," he suggested. "I can hook it up to the TARDIS and we can follow it to its last known space-time coordinates."

"To Galva Prime?" Spartus shook his head. "That's a war-torn hellhole."

"We could trace it back to its _origin_ ," the Doctor added. "Someone misplaced their Time Ring. I'd like to find out who."

Spartus nodded. He was certainly curious as to its origins. He moved forwards, as the Doctor put the Time Ring down and tapped a few buttons on the console.

"Too many people died," the Doctor said.

"It happens."

"It _shouldn't_ have happened."

"It was either kill or be killed, Doctor," Spartus countered. "There's nothing wrong with that. Karva wanted to destroy humanity. Were you going to let him do that?"

"No, of course not." The Doctor frowned at him. "But that's just it, isn't it? Karva was the problem. If something had been done sooner…"

"You can't anticipate that sort of thing, even with a time machine." Spartus found it odd, having to be the reassuring voice, but he did not like to see the Doctor get hung up on what had happened. They had done their best, given the circumstances, and things could have been a lot worse.

There was a long pause between the two of them. Spartus mulled over what else to add, finding very little to talk about. Most of the subject matter he could think of was somewhat downbeat.

"What will happen to the Sea Devils still asleep in the underground shelter?" Spartus asked.

"They'll remain there, most likely," the Doctor said. "UNIT will probably seal the place shut. It wouldn't be the first time for them, doing that sort of thing."

Before anything more could be said, the conversation was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. This was a strange enough noise in itself, Spartus thought, even if they were in some sort of phone box. The Doctor seemed startled, at least for a moment, before he flicked a switch. The doors opened, revealing the Earth below them, the atmosphere within the TARDIS no doubt contained by some sort of invisible force field. Spartus watched as the Doctor walked over to the open door and leaned around, sticking his head and arms out before retrieving the phone hidden in the compartment in the other door. Taking it off the hook, he walked back inside, the cable extending behind him. His face was serious, and he must have been expecting the worst.

"Hello?" He said this somewhat uncertainly. Spartus could just hear the other voice, that of a man, human no doubt, and this voice carried a somewhat pronounced accent that Spartus, with his limited Earth knowledge, could not place.

" _Hello, Doctor. Do you remember me?"_

"Can't say that I do." The Doctor and Spartus exchanged glances. Spartus just shrugged. If the Doctor thought he knew who it was, he was wrong.

" _You don't recognize the voice? Surely your memory isn't that bad, Doctor. I mean, for me it's been, what, seventeen years almost? And for you, how long has it been? Five hundred years? One thousand?_ Two thousand? _"_ There was a chuckle from the other end, a mirthful one at that. _"I suppose that's forgivable, in your case. Even a Time Lord must forget some things after two thousand years."_

"Who are you? And how did you get this number?" The Doctor's voice became serious and his patience was evidently wearing thin.

" _Henry Van Statten. You've changed, Doctor, but I haven't. Older and wiser, maybe, but I'm still the same old me. Although one thing about you hasn't changed. You march into a place and leave a trail of bodies behind you."_

"How did you get this number?" Recognition flashed upon the Doctor's face. It was clear to Spartus then that he did indeed know who this man was.

" _A little birdie told me. Or, perhaps, a little_ lizard _told me."_ Sarcasm laced the man's voice. _"I thought I might thank you, for how you and your new alien friend cleaned up the Sea Devil business. For a moment there, I thought the whole thing might be traced to me."_

"Traced? What do you mean?"

" _Oh, no Doctor. No answers for you. I also called to suggest you keep a close eye on your new vaguely reptilian friend. I think he may have some skeletons in the closet you should be worried about."_ Another chuckle followed, and Spartus frowned. How did this Van Statten character know about him?

"I thought you were dead."

" _Dead? No, far from it. I don't die easy. I've got plenty of money, Doctor. No one's going to erase my memories and leave me living on the streets like a tramp, not when you have the influence I do."_ There was pause, and then finally Van Statten spoke again. The Doctor was simply staring straight ahead now, as if the conversation had struck a chord in him. _"It's been a pleasure talking to you again, after all these years, but I gotta run. I'm a busy man, people to meet, money to make. Goodbye, Doctor."_

Before the Doctor could say anything more, there was a _click_ on the other end and the line went dead. He lowered the phone, his face grim, and he glanced over at Spartus who was somewhat confused.

"Was there something we missed?" The Doctor asked aloud. No answers came his way, not from him or from Spartus, or anywhere or anyone else for that matter.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, the Doctor had put the phone away and the doors were closed. As he set the TARDIS into the time vortex, Spartus retired to the bedroom he had been offered, located somewhat down the corridor from the console room, leaving the Doctor alone.

There were too many questions on his mind. He had since hooked up the Time Ring to the console, leaving the TARDIS computers to figure out what secrets it might contain. As the autopilot sent them hurtling through the time vortex, the Doctor made his way through the corridors of the TARDIS' vast interior. Spartus was lounging in his new bedroom, giving the Doctor some private time of his own as he worked his way to the vast library contained within the TARDIS.

Rows and rows of bookshelves were here, containing all manner of tomes of varying shapes and sizes, along with all manner of computerised information storage. The Doctor approached the catalogue listed at the end of one aisle, his eyes scanning along it before he found the section he was looking for. With that in mind, he entered the aisle, bringing along with him the set of wheeled steps that were nearby. Stopping them towards the end of the aisle, he climbed up them, reaching for a set of old books on the topmost shelf.

The largest of the few he found was thick and heavy. Dense reading, to say the least. The front cover did not carry any images, simply a title, embossed in gold lettering: _A Concise History of the Rebellion of Morbius_. The Doctor put the others aside for now and flicked it open. He had a feeling, and Van Statten's phone call had simply made it all the more pronounced.

A few hundred pages in and he found what he was looking for: a detailed image of a soldier in a grey padded armour coat, wielding some kind of large portable energy cannon, striding through a war-torn battle-scape. Despite the visor he wore, the bluish scaly skin was evident. The caption beneath told the Doctor what he needed to know, to confirm his suspicions:

 _The Maval'Kar soldiers who formed part of the rebel forces were renowned for their strength and ferocity in battle, capable of taking incredible amounts of punishment before dying. From an isolated world, the Maval'Kar were most certainly recruited by the renegade, Morbius, because of their fast healing abilities._

The Doctor closed the book and took it down with him as he stepped off of the wooden steps. He had some history to catch up on, he realised.

 _Skeletons in the closet, indeed._

* * *

 **END (for now)  
**

* * *

 **Note:  
** If you stuck with it until the end, then I hoped you enjoyed it. Some questions may be unanswered, but at some time in the future ( _well_ into the future, probably), I may write a continuation of sorts. My intention with this story was in a way to write a story reminiscent of the 1970s 'UNIT era' but meld it with the moral ambiguity and grimness of the mid-1980s _Doctor Who_ era. This whole idea, involving the Sea Devils and an alien soldier being kept in captivity by a ruthless 'collector', had been in my head since about 2012, and it's a relief to finally have it written in some form.

For now, I hope I provided a satisfying standalone tale.


End file.
